


The Untamed Wilds

by EzraTheBlue



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Colonial Brazil, Colonialism, M/M, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-01-06 17:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12215625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EzraTheBlue/pseuds/EzraTheBlue
Summary: Padre Godofredo de Sereno has been sent to the young colony of Brazil and the remote outpost of Forte Paz with (faint) hopes of helping to civilize the savage badlands of the Amazon Basin. However, when he comes face to face with one of the supposedly too-wild natives and the other dangers of this strange new world his kingdom wishes to claim, he must reconsider what it really means to be savage.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kirathaune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirathaune/gifts).



> My gift fic to Kirathaune for the 2017 7th Night Exchange! The prompt was Sanzo/Goku, "Colonists." This went in a unique direction, but I think it fit the bill and it was a ton of fun to write.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta, Whymzycal, for her hard work, for assistance with a plot revision, and all the corrections!

**The Untamed Wilds**

**1:**

After two months on an agonizingly slow galleon and two weeks on foot, Padre Sereno had expected to be received in a manner befitting someone who'd been invited in desperation and sent as a gift. He long should have known that he could avoid disappointment by expecting nothing.

Even so, this was not what he'd expected, and his heart sank into bitterness as he surveyed the sun-streaked clearing they'd come upon: "Is this all it is?" Padre Sereno crossed his arms, then hurriedly grabbed the reins of his horse as he immediately began to lose his balance. His thighs sweated through the thick pants he'd been advised to wear while riding under his collar and robes, the heat oppressive and dense, making his flaxen hair near brown with sweat, though spring (albeit a curious spring in September) had hardly begun. Hilario, apace behind, brushed a lock of mahogany-brown hair out of his face then dug in his saddlebag for the map as his mule trotted up to halt at the top of the ridge at his side. Padre Sereno ignored the noise behind him as Gaspar, his manservant, stumbled on the path and swore as he tried to catch up, instead affixing Hilario with an impatient glare. Hilario, daintily ignoring his muted rage, spread the map over the span of his thighs and studied it for a moment, gaze flitting left and right behind his mud-spattered monocle, before nodding.

"I believe so, yes. There are no other settlements in this area, so this must be Forte Paz." Hilario granted Father Sereno a smile as he folded the map over. "It'll be a relief not to have to ride, won't it?"

"Tch." Sereno's lip curled with disgust. "How much relief we'll get is to be seen."

The rainforests, dense with strange trees with leaves broader than a courtesan's fan and fruit in colors Sereno had never imagined and shapes sculpted by Satan's own hands, surrounded them for as far as the eye could see. Ever since they'd left the Sao Paolo port for their destination, it had been on a muddy path hewed through these trees, stumbling through the dark and damp. Hilario had said that many of the trees that had been cleared were used for building homes, but the lumber here was different than the thick wood back home – Brazilwood, the first lumber to be found to have any value at all, was only good for clothing dye, though it produced the most vivid shades of crimson, but much of it was too soft. As such, the men trying to make this land livable only cut away at the trees they could use or the paths they needed to travel. Hilario had led him on the twisting path through the thick, humid forest, and Padre Sereno had swatted at mosquitos and insects for days. When they slept at night, it was on mossy ground that wept dank water through their bedrolls. (Gaspar swore oaths that Padre Sereno could never repeat in front of anyone else for the entire hour it took to beat them all dry as they continued to move.) Padre Sereno had driven them westward up the path in hopes of finding civilization in the untamed wilds.

Forte Paz was not what he had in mind. The fort itself was a slumped-roof construction of crumbling brick and stone, surrounded by low huts and encircled by logs carved to a point and driven into the ground up to a fence with a hoist gate. Padre Sereno dug his heels in on his horse's side to move closer and see that most of the roofs were thatched leaves woven thick over the walls, some lined with straw or muslin. It was all remarkably pathetic, but in these savage lands, what did he expect?

Still, Forte Paz had begged for a priest, and a priest they would have. Sereno had not traveled West across sea and land with his woolen robes and Bible to turn back now.

Hilario followed a few paces behind Sereno on his mule, and Gaspar, still shaking the mud off his leg, stumbled along behind, shoving a few locks of his too-long auburn hair behind his shoulders. “I don't know what you're turning your nose up at, Padre,” he remarked under his breath. “I've seen worse.”

“Do be understanding, _Senhor_  de Sa,” Hilario said without turning. “Padre Sereno is more used to revered and well-cared-for convents than the makeshift shelters of a new settlement.”

Gaspar sniffed, shaking his head and muttering in a voice he probably thought Sereno couldn't hear, “Then the delicate little daisy ought've stayed in Lisbon, where his pretty yellow hair won't get streaked with mud...”

“Better than blood red and just as muddy,” Sereno sneered back, then sealed his lips, knowing that wrath was a sin and he had no priest to confess to here.

Gaspar, for his part, grumbled a curt, “Apologies. Merely a jest, _Senhor_ ,” then muttered something Sereno couldn't make out about “only two years more.” Sereno scoffed and spurred the horse on, and the patient creature snorted but plodded on through the mud.

Hilario exhaled his tension in a little sigh, but smiled for Sereno's benefit, if not his own. “Begging your pardon, _Senhor_ , but you seem displeased with your assignment.”

“I did not ask for this, no. Displeased is a mild way to put it.”

“Displeased, he says,” Gaspar groused, “As if that were unusual for you.”

“Quiet, you.” Sereno shot him a glare. Gaspar flipped his lip at him, but lowered his head and gathered the packs under his arms again. Sereno leaned towards Hilario and confided, “I never loved Lisbon; it is merely where God put me, and all the hustle and bustle around the castle with the succession crisis, it's … it is stressful.” He grimaced, somewhere between relief at what he'd left behind, and yet: “I had no interest in coming here, either, but it appears God wants me here now.”

“Understood, sir.” Hilario shrugged, his movements loose in his threadbare tunic. “Did you not mention that your mentor came to the colonies some time ago?”

“Yes, I did. Padre Henrique Caldeira de Sereno built a mission on the outskirts of Sao Paolo some years ago.” Sereno exhaled through his nose, then swatted at a fly that buzzed too close to his face. Hilario tutted at him, waving a kerchief to shoo the fly off, then asked:

“Where is he now? Somewhere, perhaps, less insect-infested?”

“Buried, in Lisbon. I was fortunate enough to be sent his bones.” Sereno narrowed his eyes as they reached the gate. “I imagine he is as bored there as I was.” Hilario laughed, and Sereno smirked to himself as they reached the bottom of the hill.

The first thing that hit Padre Sereno when they passed through into the fortress town was the stench of fish. A crew of workmen were staking long poles of small, salted fish in the ground under the sun, and a few African slaves hovered nearby, waving some of the massive leaves to keep the insects off of them as they dried. However, as Padre Sereno moved into view, all the men stopped in place, jammed their stakes into the ground haphazardly, and ran to his side, exhorting:

“Padre!”

“ _Senhor_!”

“Welcome!”

Sereno shrank back as the commotion attracted men from the huts and from the main fortress, until Hilario hopped off of his horse and intervened. “If I may, sirs?” Hilario cleared his throat, and Sereno, still mounted and gripping the reins with white knuckles, stared out at what must have been the whole population of the fort, some two hundred men and slaves. Hilario donned his brightest smile and announced, “It is my honor to introduce Padre Godofredo Caldeira de Sereno. La Duchesa Celia Caldeira de Barcelos sends her regards and her favored nephew to guide you with God's light.”

A cheer rose through the crowd, and a man with overgrown, nearly-white hair, a rifle strapped to his back, and an eyepatch obscuring the scarring over his eye, pushed through and offered a hand to Padre Sereno. “Padre Sereno, we are truly blessed to have you.” Sereno hesitantly accepted his hand and slid to the ground, hardly having to look to know that Gaspar stood nearby to catch his foot if he slipped in the stirrups. The leader half bowed and graced Sereno with a languid smile. “I am _Capitao_ Balduino Xavier, and the men here answer to me. We know our conditions are sparse, but we do appreciate your coming to help us civilize this place.”

Sereno gathered himself, tried to pretend he was not surrounded by several scores of people and to imitate the calm Padre Henrique might exude, and said, projecting as if he were giving Mass, intoned, “I am honored to be at the forefront of our civilization mission. I am grateful that God has brought me here, and look forward to leading you in the path of light.” He heard a few whispers, but cleared his throat and tried to speak louder. “I anticipate eagerly–”

There was a screech overhead, and Sereno instinctively ducked. A few men laughed, but Captain Xavier, trying not to chuckle. caught Sereno's arm. “Merely a monkey, _Senhor_.”

“Ah.” Sereno's voice came out tight and tense, and he hurriedly finished. “I anticipate serving you and helping to bring the light of God to the natives in these dark parts.”

“Aye, appreciated.” Captain Xavier waved a hand. “Now you know, there's nothing to see! Back to work, you gaping mules!”

There were a few cheers, a few laughs, and the man with the missing eye shouted a few orders in a vernacular Sereno didn't recognize, and the workmen dispersed and returned to their tasks. Xavier turned back to Sereno, his expression grave despite his easygoing smile. “Please understand, _Senhor_ , your presence is vital to civilizing these parts, at least for keeping morale up, but we have tried to communicate with the savages here in the eight months we have been here, and they are impossible. They are violent and unintelligible. They cannot be convinced to work, not for any amount of food, and they attack us on sight. You would do well to avoid them.”

“Is that so?” Sereno frowned. “My lady aunt implored of me to save as many souls as possible.”

“That may be, but I must request of you that you avoid the natives, if at all possible. My men would prefer you alive.” Xavier motioned to Gaspar, relaxing to a lazy smirk. “Keep your Morisco muscle with you, and do not stray far from the walls.”

Sereno sniffed, and glanced around at the logs surrounding him. “I suppose I can pray that these walls grow wider. If that is what I must do, then so be it.” He didn't bother keeping the displeasure from tinging his voice, but Xavier merely chuckled, clearly unimpressed, then called for someone in the fortress to come and escort Padre Sereno to his quarters and show him to the sanctuary.

Sereno had hoped, deep in his gray heart, that he would see excitement in a new place. Instead, the stone walls were the same gray as those of his cell at home. He recited the same prayers as ever as he first blessed a goblet of river water, then the room that had been set aside for his sanctuary using the selfsame Holy Water. It was merely a small room, no cruciform, no grand nave or atrium like his prior basilica, but the benches looked enough like pews from the front of the room, and surely the bodies would all look the same on their knees. Padre Henrique had tolerated this; so would he. The Holy Water sank into the cracks between the tiles nonetheless, and Sereno's song echoed in his own ears like it always did. He spent the entire afternoon performing the same confessional to a fortress full of men who had committed the same sins as they may have at home in Lisbon, and the Lord's Prayer was the very same as it ever was.

If he was forbidden from preaching to the untamed wilds, then what real “civilizing” was he doing? The men cutting away those wild trees were doing more to make this land livable than he was.

Hilario and Gaspar were put to work as well. Xavier didn't seem to have much of a plan in place, no broad view or major goals, and admitted, “We just need to get the land clear, eh?” He set some men at cutting trees and clearing land, others at foraging and fishing, and others on tending the fortress, guarding the gate or fixing the bricks. Gaspar, for his part, was a workhorse, built with muscle like a mule, and he seemed content as he ever was hauling logs and chopping trees, talking and laughing with the other workmen and slaves at the task. He spoke their language, though he looked distinctly different. Sereno hadn't caught sight of any other Moriscos among the slaves, just Africans. His auburn hair and tan skin made him easy to pick out in a crowd, at least, but Sereno knew that his aunt had given Gaspar to him because he got on poorly with the rest of her staff. Standing out was something he was likely good at. Still, while he worked well enough with the other slaves, Sereno could already see that none of them associated with him any more than they had to. Hilario seemed to like him, but then, from what Sereno could tell, Hilario had no idea what he was looking at.

Sereno had hired Hilario in Sao Paolo, where he'd been advertising his services as a guide and valet. He spoke some of the dialects that had developed in Brazil to help translate, but Sereno was content to put Hilario to work laundering his clothes and preparing meals when they were traveling. Sereno knew nothing of his history and had no intention of asking, but while he was impeccably polite, he seemed to maintain some distance.

If he were in a mood to be kind, he could even admit preferring them to the workmen who joked and laughed with one another the moment they turned from him. Gaspar's dislike of him was poorly veiled and as honest as anything else, and while Hilario couched things behind a smile that never wavered, he was understanding of Sereno, didn't bow or scrape, and even gently teased in his mild, unflinching way. The workmen were reverent to his face but different people when they didn't face him, the same as those who had prayed on their knees before him in Lisbon. They had begged for his presence, yet their appreciation felt somehow hollow. At least none of them had the nerve to say anything when he stood at the doors to the fortress and lit his pipe.

When he saw Gaspar and Hilario headed for the gates, Gaspar carrying a basket on his shoulder, he swiftly gave chase. "Where are the two of you headed? We were warned of the danger beyond the walls."

"This is so, yes," Hilario agreed swiftly as Gaspar curled his lip to deliver a fouler response, "but the river is a short walk outside. There is a well in camp, but I wish to wash our clothing, and I prefer running water for that. Gaspar will escort me and keep me safe."

Sereno squinted as Gaspar. "He's not armed."

"Of course not!" Gaspar hunched his shoulder defensively. "And I know I'm not meant to be, but I'm not afraid of whatever's out there." He displayed a clenched fist and a confident smirk. "This is all I'll need to keep him safe."

Sereno pursed his lips, thinking. "Fine, then. I wish to accompany you. I shouldn't be seen smoking my pipe, but it's the only thing that will settle my stomach after tonight's rations."

"As you wish." Hilario bowed his head in acquiescence, and Sereno fell in line behind them, pausing only to pat his breast and the Bible packed in the inner pocket of his robe (his book ever close to his heart), as they passed through the gates and on the roughly-hewn trail to the river. It was near the same path that had carried them there, but at least all the trees looked different than the same walls that had surrounded him here and in Lisbon.

The river was exposed to a thin shaft of the dying sunlight, the sky pink with dusk and clouded by the occasional wisp of smoke from Sereno's pipe. Hilario contented himself with washing the clothes and making light conversation with Gaspar, and Sereno paced back and away from the running brook, pipe in hand.

"They say," Gaspar said to Hilario, "that we came to this land for gold, but we can dig for nothing on land like this! The only thing of value we pull from the earth are the Brazilwood trees."

"Is that so? Why are the other trees of less value?"

"Eh." Gaspar gave a shrug, then crossed his arms across his sweat-stained tunic. "If what they tell me is so, many of the other trees are strange, not solid like home. They're harder to build with, not as sturdy. Brazilwood, though, bleeds a fabulous crimson dye treasured by the weavers and sempsters at home." He grinned rakishly and tossed his sunrise-red hair behind his shoulders. "Not that crimson has ever had very much value to me!"

Hilario laughed without looking at him, busying his hands in the water. "Ah, my, perhaps it's merely context. They would like things to be red where they are not, and if things that are not meant to be so red are, they desire to change it."

"Heh." Gaspar spit a bitter laugh into the water, and Hilario gingerly removed the chambray he was washing from the river's flow. Sereno blew a smoke ring towards the pair of them.

"And what will they do, when there are no more Brazilwood trees to cut away and sell?"

"Make home, I should hope," Gaspar muttered, turning away from Sereno deliberately. "If we can clear it all away, we can live here."

"But there are many living here now." Hilario held a hand up. "Quiet yourselves a moment. Listen."

Sereno stayed his pipe and tuned his ears to the noise around them, as Gaspar (for once) sealed his mouth to let silence settle in around them. Sereno could hear strange birdsong warbling from the distance, the calls of shrieking animals, the rustle of the wind through the bushes, faraway footfalls.

"See," Hilario murmured, "this place is filled with life."

Sereno merely sneered. "Un-Godly animals. Monkeys and the like."

"Begging your pardon, _Senhor_ , but God created every creature on the Earth, large and small, even those that you have not yet met.” Hilario glanced over his shoulder, studying Sereno. Sereno shrugged.

"I do not know how much of this world God created, or perhaps he assembled it with his back turned." He cast his gaze around at the long-stretching shadows, the unimaginably tall trees and tangled overgrowth. "Or perhaps someone, or something else, acted in His stead." He blew another smoke cloud towards the jungle, and Hilario suddenly let loose with a string of coughing. Gaspar startled and turned to face him.

"You alright there, friend?"

"It's the smoke." Hilario coughed heartily with an arm flung over his mouth. "It's rather stressful on my breathing, and it aches my head. _Senhor_ , could you kindly--"

"Smoke elsewhere?" Gaspar raised a threatening eyebrow at Sereno, then added a petulant, " _please and begging your pardon._ "

Sereno scoffed again, but granted a half-bow towards Gaspar matched with a nasty look. "Very well. I shan't stray far."

Hilario rose and bowed at the waist, a damp dish still in his hands. "Please, stay where Gaspar can see you."

"Aye," Gaspar agreed with a wicked grin, "There might be more monkeys!"

Sereno _hmph_ ed and spun on his heel, storming down a ragged path between some of the trees. "More talk like that," he groused, just loud enough that Gaspar might hear, "and you'll be fed to them." He faintly heard Gaspar starting to insult him to Hilario but scoffed to himself and walked on.

Stumbled on would be more accurate. What he had found could hardly be called a path as much as an incidental space between trees, littered with underbrush, fallen logs, low plants with broad leaves that looked like tickling fingers, strange fungus in unusual colors. Sereno thought he could hear snakes in the grass, but then, he'd been paranoid since he was a boy. He was certain, however, that he could hear running water.

Sure enough, he soon came to another clearing north of the stream they'd been at, this one at the edge of a cliff with a waterfall pouring into the babbling brook below. Sereno seated himself on one of the low rocks near the river's edge, in the shade of a branching tree, and lit his pipe again, inhaled, then exhaled slowly, letting the smoke take his tension with it. Peace. Sereno had hoped he might find some here, in a place that was wilder, but less populated. He tired of people, of the chatter and confusion, all too quickly.

This place was wild, but there was a peace to it. Perhaps Hilario had the right idea, and perhaps God had made this place with a different purpose. Perhaps this place was made to be wild, filled with the sounds of animals and nature, or an Eden, yet untouched by man's hands. Sereno considered briefly if man belonged in a place such as this, meditating on the birdsong and the rustle of a warm, damp wind through the trees.

The sound was chased by the distinct patter of human footsteps. Sereno looked, expecting Hilario or Gaspar come to fetch him, but he saw neither on the path he had taken here. Then, he turned around and saw another shadow moving towards him from the underbrush. Instinctively, he dove behind the rock, just as the shadow emerged into the dying sunlight and into Sereno's full view.

A young man, yes, but like none Sereno had ever laid eyes on. Small and lithe, skin bronzed by sun and decorated with black ash and blood, hair the rich brown of cherrywood, and round, wide eyes as golden as an Empresa's crown. He carried a rudimentary spear, his blade carved of stone and strapped to a sturdy branch as tall as him. His body, nude but for a tanned hide tied around his nethers for a loincloth and a strip of leather around his neck and chest, rippled faintly with subtle muscle -- not the bulk on the workmen or Gaspar, this was compact strength. God had made him to hunt. From the blood that streaked his hands and face, that was just what he'd been doing. Sereno inhaled as the wild man passed closer, watching his snub nose, his flaring nostrils, certain the creature might sniff him out. He held his breath for a moment as the wild man paused at the water's edge.

Then, the man stepped into the water and trudged into the falls, spear still in hand. He leaned his head into the pouring water first, then stepped the rest of the way under and – to Sereno's shock – began to hum a strange tune as the fall cascaded down over his hair and all the lines of his body. He was one with the river, one with the air. The blood and ash fell from him in streaks, the color washing down and into the river's flow, leaving him as clean as the day he first drew breath. He was magnificent. Sereno was entranced and could not keep from staring. Was this man one who'd been born without Original Sin? Had God kept this part of man so pure?

His insides coiled tight in his chest and belly – such a strange, foreign sensation; it was all Sereno could do not to shake in awe at this creature. Inadvertently, just as the man ran his hand down through the water that sluiced over his chest, Sereno leaned forward as if drawn in by that motion.

The branch Sereno had obscured himself behind rustled. In an instant, the man hefted his spear and flung it at the tree. Sereno jumped back, then held still and silent as the limber branch of the spear wobbled, with the stone blade implanted firmly in the tree he was hiding behind. The man began to mutter something unpleasant in a tongue Sereno could not discern, storming through the water and splashing every step of the way. He stalked close to Sereno's position, and Sereno felt his mind racing, wondering if he could run quickly enough, if he could escape this predator, or if he had to defend his life, how. The wild man stilled at the water's edge, staring past Sereno, and Sereno could have sworn that they met eyes for a fleeting glance. Then, the wild man turned and bolted, leaving his spear still stuck in the tree. Sereno waited for the sound of his footsteps to fade with distance, then pivoted and stormed back towards the other two.

He couldn't see straight, couldn't think straight, until he saw them come back into view, Hilario still crouched at the riverside and Gaspar knelt at Hilario's side helping him gather the clean things, and shouted: "We must return to the fortress. It is dangerous here!"

"Ah?" Hilario looked up, frowning. " _Senhor_ , you appear, er, disheveled."

Sereno halted in his angered march, then swore. "Accursed monkeys." He wagged a finger at the pair of them. "There's danger here. We will not return unless we are armed. I will request a pistol."

Hilario's eyes widened. " _Senhor_ , that is–"

"– the smartest thing that's come out of his mouth," Gaspar muttered, then took up all of the dishes in a stack in his arms. "We were finished, _Senhor._ We are ready to return." Sereno felt no need to say a word but merely grumbled under his breath and motioned. Gaspar took up the basket of wet clothes and began to quietly offer to set up a clothesline for Hilario on the east side of the fortress, and Sereno let them pass and walk a few paces ahead of him, then adjusted the seam of his trousers against his swollen, aching prick.

Damn the mad creature; he'd cast a spell on him, made his body rebel. Sereno would think it was a fear reaction, but that meant admitting fear. Damnation upon the whole evening. Truly, he would have to be more careful. God's voice was quiet under the howling of the wild monkeys.

************

The morning stillness was broken by a mad clamor, and Sereno jumped from his mat, scattering straw as he hurried to his feet. Was it always this loud in the mornings?! He hurried to the window of his cell to see the front yard of the fortress, and saw all of the workmen and slaves gathered near the front gates, yelling about something. This was not the happy, lively banter of men at work. There was deadly intent. Sereno could feel it.

He hurried into his robes as he bolted down the corridor to the front door, squinting blindly into the light as he burst through the portcullis to the yard. The workmen were all gathered around the front gate, Xavier holding the gate up and hollering with the rest, just as a few men came through carrying a thick wooden pole on their shoulders, and a new voice screamed senselessly. Sereno could see sun-browned hands and feet on the top of the pole, and ropes binding them there.

Something snapped in him, a voice crying out from somewhere, and he was compelled.

Sereno strode towards the crowd, waving an arm. “Let me through, let me through!” The crowd parted, but it was to let the men carrying the pole through, and now Sereno could plainly see the same young man from yesterday was tied to the pole, arms and legs looped around it and bound tightly there by his wrists, hands, and ankles. The young man was screaming in pain, tears of fury running down his cheeks, as he twisted and strained to get loose. Sereno planted himself in their way. “Halt! Captain!” Sereno furiously motioned to Xavier, then gestured wildly at the scene. “What in God's name are you all doing to this man?!”

“Padre, we spotted him scouting us,” Xavier explained as he strolled through the crowd towards them, lazily waving a hand at the native man. “We had a whole crew of them come after us several months ago, and they're vicious, violent. They steal the fish from the salt barrels or the meat from the spits, and they tear at our walls. We try to communicate, but they're either too stubborn–” He pinched the young man's cheek, and the young man jawed and snapped at him only for Xavier to slap him in return. “Or too stupid to talk sense!” The men around Xavier laughed and chattered excitedly as the young man growled back, baring his teeth. Sereno snorted, doing his best not to call all of his new flock idiots aloud.

But then another voice in his head spoke, that fascinating sensation riding through him again. It was either the voice of God or something inside himself that compelled him to step forward and say: “Do you speak his language?”

The laughter died a little, as Xavier raised his good eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“He has his own language. My manservant, Hilario, speaks some of the languages spoken by those who lived in this country first.”

“An ungodly language, _Senhor_. It's beyond knowing.” Xavier shrugged again, but as if cued, Hilario appeared at Sereno's side. Sereno nodded appreciatively.

“Can you try to speak to him?”

Hilario, still smiling but with an unusually firm expression behind his monocle, nodded shortly. “I may know some of his dialect. I can try.” He crouched near the pole, eye-level with the young man. He said something Sereno couldn't understand. The man stopped squirming, staring at Sereno, sun-gold eyes wide. Hilario pursed his lips, then tried another phrase. This got a verbal response, a half-guttural whisper. Hilario stood, mouth set in a hard line. “He said 'help me.'”

This got more laughter, but the voice in Sereno's heart cried out only louder. In a heartbeat, Sereno marched forward and untied the knots around the man's ankles, then his wrists. The young man tumbled to a heap on the ground and hurriedly grabbed onto Sereno's legs, chattering again, and all the laughter died. When Sereno looked up, there were a dozen knives at his throat.

“He's nothing but a stupid monkey of an idiot!” Sereno glowered around, unfazed, before locking gazes with Xavier again. “And what were you going to do with him, kill him?”

Xavier scoffed and crossed his arms. “He is younger; perhaps he can still learn how to be human. If he can be tamed, we'll put him to work. If not, then we'd have no choice, like with a mad dog or a lame horse.”

“He's neither of those.” Sereno studied the savage, who had clung tight and hugged his legs desperately, but now stared at his face with what looked like rapt adoration. “If you wish to tame him, then let me try. It appears to me that you all have been out here so long you have forgotten civilization. Leave him to me.” He faced Xavier directly, glowering directly into his face. Captain Xavier scoffed.

“Do as you wish, Padre.”

“I will.” Sereno turned behind him, but Gaspar was already approaching, fists balled at his sides. Sereno looked down at the savage, and said, slowly but firmly: “I will help you.”

He knew the boy didn't speak his language, but understanding passed through his wide eyes, and he stopped scraping at Sereno's legs. Gaspar arrived and crouched at Sereno's side, eye-level with the savage boy, and though Sereno heard him speaking gentle little words, Sereno could not make out what he was saying. Instead, he instructed, “Take him to my sanctuary. I'll keep him in my cell.” He glanced to Hilario. “Teach him to speak. I will help him learn the ways of the world.” Then, he faced Gaspar again. “Keep him safe.” He glanced around at the men who still stared. Many had lowered their weapons, but Sereno could still see the glint of their blades, and he muttered for Gaspar's ears only, “He is not the only savage here.” He spoke aloud: “I will prepare for morning Mass, for those who wish to consider their sins.” The savage seemed to have calmed, and Gaspar was able to scoop him up and load him onto his shoulder as if he weighed nothing. He turned, and Hilario and Gaspar fell in lock step and followed.

“ _Senhor_  de Sa, are you--”

“I'm fine.” Gaspar patted the smaller man's back, though the wild man, still trembling, complained under his breath, “He's not heavy. Must say, though.” Sereno caught him looking around as all the workmen observed their retreat, before focusing on him again as he followed. “I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this.”

“Ah.” Hilario sounded agreeable, and if Sereno were in a better mood, he'd praise the pair of them for not becoming upset or rebelling at the notion of facing down the rest of the fortress. Instead, he halted only once they were in his cell, and once Gaspar set the wild man down.

The first thing Sereno did was crouch, eye-level with the wild man, and say slowly, pointing to himself, “I am Padre Godofredo Caldeira de Sereno. You can say Padre Sereno.” He motioned to the others without breaking eye contact. “That is Hilario, and that is Gaspar. Can you tell us your name?”

The savage stared back at him, forming words with his mouth but nothing Sereno could read. “Pointless,” Sereno muttered. “He knows not a word of Portuguese. We'll have to teach him.” Without thinking about it, he carded his fingers into the savage's hair. The savage allowed it, even making a contented noise, before Sereno abruptly released him and turned to face his servants.

“He is our responsibility. My job is to civilize this place, so I'll begin here.” He looked between them. “I trust you, and only you, with his safety.” With that, he turned on his heel and left, just as the savage boy began to tear through his trunk and explore his robes and Hilario moved to halt him.

He could feel his heart pounding with excitement through the book in his breast pocket, even skipping at the sound of the savage's voice as he argued with Hilario. Was this what he'd really sought in the new world? His life had been easy up until now. This challenge was frightening and exciting in the same instant, and for a moment, as the savage began to shout, Sereno stopped in place and willed his heart to slow.

“I have done the right thing,” he assured himself under his breath, closing his eyes against the bright sunlight that seemed to pour in all of the windows. “This is what God has sent me for.”

 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Padre Sereno and the others begin the work of civilizing the savage.

**2:**

The savage did not seem to like wearing clothes. It took near-constant chasing and chiding from Hilario, half in pidgin-speak of the savage's language and half in proper Portuguese, to keep him in pants. He'd fidget with the waistband, slipping on the too-long hems and shouting when he fell. Hilario finally accommodated him by tearing the trousers he'd been given into short pants that stopped at the knee.   
  
Harder to fix was that the man did not understand protocol. He shouted when excited, though none understood him, and didn't know to stay out of the way of the workmen or out of the kitchens. He touched everything, from the slate on Sereno's desk with all his notes scrawled out to the whale-oil lanterns hung on the wall. He didn't scold when Sereno shouted at him not to touch his things, but at least the heat of the lamp and the slick residue from the oil dissuaded him of that. If he had to relieve himself, he wouldn't bother with chamber pots, but would instead run outside and yank his trousers down by the fence. He had a bad habit of swiping fish from the salt barrels or food from the galley, and would get swatted at with hands or wooden spoons, and once was chased off with a broom, leading to another round of shouting. He attended morning prayers and Sunday Mass, but only when held firmly in place by Hilario and fidgeting on his knees the whole time.   
  
The savage took to being named like a cat to water. Xavier had, when Sereno came to the gate and presented him on the second morning (writhing in his loaned clothes but still there), declared, “If we are to keep him, then we shall call him Balduino the Second, after me!” The savage had stared at him blankly, and Sereno pursed his lips.  
  
“Balduino the Second, is it?” 'Balduino' didn't look at him, and Sereno frowned. “That's you now.”   
  
_Capitao_  Xavier held a hand out. “Balduino, shake hands like a man!” 'Balduino' studied Xavier's hand, then grabbed his fingers to look in his palm as if there might have been food there. He pouted, then turned and hurried off, shouting something indiscernible, and Xavier sighed. Sereno sniffed and watched as the savage ran off.  
  
“I don't think it's sticking.”  
  
“No respect at all,” Xavier muttered, then spat on the ground. “We'll stick a name to him somehow.”  
  
That declaration seemed to prompt every man in the fortress to try to name the savage. They'd shout names at him to get his attention, planning to pin the first one he responded to on him as if trying to call a dog that wasn't theirs:  
  
“Joao!”  
  
“Abel!”  
  
“Guilherme!”  
  
The savage answered to none of it, not turning his head once, no matter how they tried. In fact, the only thing he seemed to really respond to was Sereno shouting at his back. He could also call him “ape” or “chimp” and say the word firmly enough that it got his attention, though he would not call the savage a savage to his face. Even that, however, did no good when the wild man decided he didn't want to come, or rather, that he no longer wanted to be there.  
  
The savage would bolt for the gate whenever he had a chance, and it was fortunate that Gaspar had long legs and a swift sprint to catch and keep him inside the walls.

"It won't do ya no good!" Gaspar shouted through his frustration as he hauled the savage back towards the fortress for the fourth time in a day, over the laughter of the workmen and the snickers from even the slaves. "You can't lift that thing on your own, it's heavier than – than – than you, you little ape shit!" The savage jawed and yowled, twisting against Gaspar as Sereno watched through his window, face hot with humiliation, over the sermon he was drafting.  
  
He tried to take meals with the savage, hoping a display of noble civility might improve his manners. All Sereno accomplished was a fabulous array of food stains on his robes. "At least," said Hilario, as he unbuttoned the savage's latest artwork from Sereno's breast to wash it, "they are black, so the stains do not show."  
  
"Yes; his canvas renews itself daily at the expense of your knuckles." Sereno rolled his eyes, ignoring the way the little chimp grinned with glee at his naked back.  
  
Meals, however, were where the savage showed his first signs of civility at all. Sereno first heard his voice proper while sharing lunch with Hilario on the floor of his cell:  
  
"Meat." It was rough and rusty, like someone who'd never spoken, but it was the same pitchy, curious voice that had spoken before, finally intelligible. Sereno turned from his desk and saw the savage pointing at the pile of goat stew on his trenchboard. Hilario was nodding.  
  
"Meat," he repeated, holding up a piece of the goat for him. "Meat, good, yes?" He smiled demonstratively, then ate the goat. The savage grinned with all of his crooked teeth.  
  
"Meat, good, yes!" He enthusiastically devoured every bit of the stew before him in the blink of an eye, exhorting, "Meat good! Meat good!" Hilario chortled into his cupped palm.  
  
"Ah, so he can learn." Now, he pointed at the bread meant to sop up the sauce, and enunciated: "Bread."  
  
The savage ignored him, too enthralled with licking each of his fingers clean. Sereno snorted and returned to the Bible open on his desk. "He's learned the important things. The ones he likes."  
  
Day by day, however, the savage learned other things, new things, new words. "Bread" was one of them. "Hello," "Goodbye," "Yes," and "No" came quickly too. Names were still foreign, but he was learning basic words as easily as picking mushrooms. When the savage realized that using the same words as the Portuguese meant he would be understood, he began to try harder to learn them. He mostly spent his days following Hilario (with Sereno often close at hand, carrying his Bible and paper with him or pretending at observing the workmen), but he would spend it tugging at his sleeve and pointing at things:  
  
"This, yes?"  
  
"Fence," Hilario would say as he touched the post. Sereno observed from his spot in the shade of the fortress wall, listening to the lesson over the noise of the men weaving nets. "Log." He traced the contour of the bark. The savage shook his head.  
  
"This! This! Log!" He gestured with his hands, then pointed outside of the walls. Hilario glanced in the direction he pointed, then gestured to imitate the spread of leaves with his hands.  
  
"Tree?"  
  
The savage jumped up and down eagerly. "Tree! Tree!"  
  
This, however, led into the development of a strange ritual: the savage would then repeat the word, then a nonsense word. "Tree!  _Hiitehi!_  Tree!  _Hiitehi!_ " Hilario frowned curiously, and the savage settled in his antics, eyebrows all wrought up. "Tree? Many tree.  _Urihi_." He gestured around them.  _"Urihi."_  
  
"Oh, I see -- no, no. Fence." Hilario emphatically patted the fence. "Fence."  
  
"No, no! Tree,  _Hiitehi!_  Many tree,  _urihi_!" The savage grunted in frustration, and Sereno rose and took a few steps closer. He whistled, and when the savage spun about, Sereno pointed high, above the walls.   
  
“ _Urihi_ ,” he repeated smoothly, trying to imitate the savage's inflection. “Forest. Many trees.”  
  
The savage, wide-eyed, repeated back, “Forest.  _Urihi._  Forest!”   
  
Sereno nodded, then crossed over to pat the savage on the head like one might a dog who'd brought a rabbit. “Good job. I'm proud.” He hoped the savage boy knew what those words meant. From the crooked, eager smile he got in return, he had a feeling that he did.  
  
By the time Spring swelled into Summer, the savage was able to communicate.  
  
"Good morning!" he would say to Sereno when he woke, smiling from his blanket. He was always awake before Sereno, it seemed. He would bow a little, imitating Hilario, then watch Sereno dress and put his Bible in his breast pocket, and follow Sereno from the cells to the galley, skipping around the little puddles of oil drippings drying under the lamps hanging from the walls. "You sleep good?"  
  
"I slept well, thank you." Correcting him on minor inconsistencies of grammar would be a waste. Demonstrating would suffice. "Did you sleep well?"  
  
The savage puzzled over this, frowning at Sereno's back. "No, no sleep in water." Then, he gestured wildly, eagerly, "But lots of colors in sleep! Happy colors!  _Aiwa!_  Friends!"  
  
"Oh, you had good dreams? About your …  _aiwa_?” Sereno pursed his lips. “Friends?"  
  
"Yes!" The savage beamed, but his smile faded, and he said something in his language, briefly sobered. Then, he tugged Sereno's sleeve. "We breakfast now?"  
  
"As we do every morning." Sometimes, Sereno had to force the patience the savage needed. He pushed the savage's hand off, as he often had to. The wild man liked to touch and be touched, and while Gaspar never minded and Hilario gingerly removed him, Sereno felt a strange little thrill that he had to tamp down whenever the wild man reached for him. The savage looked a little put out, so Sereno went on to remind him, "Then, you help Gaspar and have lessons with Hilario. Maybe we can pin a name on you today, ape."  
  
"Gaspar, Hilario, name," the savage repeated, frowning, then shook his head and grinned at Sereno again. "Meat for eating?"  
  
Sereno gave the savage a little slap across the back of the head. "Not for breakfast." The savage whined, but Sereno rolled his eyes and ushered him along. He still followed Sereno's back, and Sereno felt reassured that even though the young man walked in his shadow, he was at least following the path of light.  
  
Captain Xavier and most of the other men remained stunned at the savage's progress, and often gawked at him when he did follow Hilario and Gaspar around, proudly announcing, "I am here to help!" He could take basic directions, but he did better with a demonstration:  
  
"Broken wall," Gaspar said, patting the crumbling stone where a falling branch had damaged it. The savage, chewing his finger curiously, watched as Gaspar took up a bucket of mortar and a spade. "We're going to patch it." He demonstrated packing the mortar into the gaps and smoothing it down. "Like a wall, make it look like more wall, so when it dries, it's a wall, see?" He gestured to the wall like a puppeteer introducing his star. The savage nodded.  
  
"Yes! Like a wall!"  
  
"Good." Gaspar handed him another bucket and a spade, and pointed at a crumbling brick near the ground. "Start there, alright?"  
  
"Yes!" The savage happily shuffled away, carrying the tools and donning a big, proud grin. Gaspar made the mistake of turning to focus on his own patch of wall.  
  
"Honestly, give the little wild man a challenge, eh?" He chuckled to himself as he packed the mortar into all the cracks, until being interrupted by a slapping noise. He turned without pulling his space off, only to see the savage had dumped his entire bucket and was pushing it into the wall. "Oi! Abel! Guilherme! Whoever the hell you are, quit that!"  
  
Gaspar hauled the savage back to Father Sereno's cell, who was now half-drenched in drying mortar, now complained in his tongue as he kept trying fruitlessly to smear mortar from his fingers, and recounted the story, concluding: “He doesn't know when I'm talking to him! If we're to keep working him, I need a name to shout at 'im!” He shoved the savage boy towards Sereno, who rose and extended a hand to catch him and held the savage at arm's length.  
  
“What is his name, then?” He leveled Gaspar with a hard stare. “You know so much, what are we to call him?”  
  
Gaspar sputtered a moment, then gesticulated, stomping his foot, “Well, he ain't introduced himself, has he?!” The savage scowled briefly at Gaspar, then hunched his shoulders.  
  
“Do not know introduce,” he muttered, and Gaspar clicked his tongue. Sereno forced him around by his shoulders.  
  
“Your name. What you are called.” He pointed at himself. “You should know this. I am Godofredo de Sereno.” Then, he motioned to Gaspar. “He is Gaspar. I call his name, he answers.” Sereno shot Gaspar a look. “Is that not so, Gaspar?”  
  
Gaspar's lips went thin and tight for a moment, but then he half-bowed. “Yes, Padre Sereno. I am called Gaspar.”  
  
Something flashed through the savage's eyes, and he crossed his arms and went sullen. Sereno groaned as the savage smeared mortar all over his tunic, and he shoved him back towards Gaspar. “Clean him in the river, and send me Hilario.”  
  
“Yes, your worship.” Gaspar rolled his eyes and threw the wild man over his shoulder like a log, already shouting for Hilario as he hauled him back out. Sereno grimaced at his back, then waited at the doorway for Hilario. Hilario soon hurried in to join him, brow furrowed up.  
  
“ _Senhor_ , what happened?”  
  
“Never mind that. I need you to teach him to introduce himself.”  
  
“Ah.” This turned Hilario's expression to a frown. “I have tried, and regrettably, I have failed.”  
  
Sereno felt the spark of anger like a flame catching at the corner of his robe, but tried to tamp it down. “Is that so? Explain.”  
  
“It is something I came to understand when discussing the people of these lands in Sao Paolo.” Hilario stepped past Sereno into his cell, and spoke in deliberate, delicate tones. “Some of the tribes, these people, they consider their names a closely held secret. They do not introduce themselves to those outside of their immediate family or tribal group, and they never give one another's names.”  
  
The spark of Sereno's temper caught all at once. “That is nonsense! One's name, one's christening, is fundamental!” Sereno huffed his annoyance. “What stupidity. Once he is clean, you and Gaspar return him to me, and we will have him introduce himself, somehow or other.”  
  
Hilario stiffened, obviously uncomfortable, but nodded. “As you wish.” He hurried out, and Sereno willed his anger down, forcing it out, rubbing his hand on the Bible he kept on his desk.  
  
“God give me strength,” he muttered, considering the savage's expression at the thought of introductions. “He is a man, is he not? We cannot simply call him 'savage,' lest he continue to be one.”  
  
That night, Sereno gathered the savage and his servants again, forcing the savage (hands cleaned and redressed) to sit in the benches in his sanctuary and standing before his lectern. He announced it with practiced ennui, as if this were a commonplace occurrence: “We lack your name.”  
  
The savage blinked, then scowled again, the same hard look as he'd gotten before. “No.”  
  
“No?” Sereno raised an eyebrow, then scowled and motioned furiously towards Hilario. “Explain.”  
  
“Ah – to him?” Hilario quizzically looked between the two, then approached and knelt by the wild man. “You are in need of a name. It is a part of being one of us, we all have names. It is how we are known to God and one another.”  
  
“Yes, name. No.” The wild man shook his head. “Mine.”  
  
Sereno grunted his annoyance, as Gaspar grimaced and pinched his brow and Hilario sighed and stood back. “What do you mean, 'yours?'”  
  
“Mine!” The savage patted his chest with both hands. “Mine! Keep safe! Keep close! Like! Like!” He jumped from his seat, then pointed at Sereno's chest. “Like that! Like that!”  
  
Sereno scowled, then felt over his own chest, where his Bible sat packed in his front pocket. He took the book out and showed it to the wild man. “Like this?”  
  
“Yes! You keep it close! It's yours!” The savage stomped his feet, and Sereno looked at his Bible.  
  
“Sacred and precious. Is that it?” Both Hilario and Gaspar looked to Sereno, and Sereno put his Bible back in his pocket. “If we chose something to call you, will you answer to it?”  
  
The savage's expression lightened, eyes bright with curiosity. “You choose? You pick name?”  
  
“Would you care to pick? Or would that be sacred too?” The savage shook his head, and Sereno sighed, then thought for a moment. “Come here.” He pointed to the space in front of the lectern, then circled around behind it as the savage approached, fidgeting already as Hilario and Gaspar looked on. Sereno dipped his fingers in the cup of Holy Water on his lectern and traced the cross on the man's forehead: “I christen you Gustavo de Domingo. This is the name that will be called by God, Christ, and every man in the civilized world.”  
  
“Gustavo?” He repeated it, then patted his chest. “I am Gustavo.”  
  
“That you are!” Gaspar swooped in and threw an arm around his shoulders, looking oddly delighted. “Gustavo! It's a good name!” Sereno couldn't help but notice the childlike happiness in Gaspar's smile, displacing his usual self-deprecating sarcasm. “When I say Gustavo, you can say, 'that's me!'”  
  
Gustavo, his face brightening at Gaspar's happiness, patted his own chest. “That's me!”  
  
“Yes!” Gaspar shook him around a little, overjoyed. “The best part is, a name like that gets you a special, bonus short name! Would you like a bonus short name?”  
  
“Yes!” Sereno realized what Gaspar was doing: exciting him, to make clear how happy he should be about this. It was working; Gustavo was grinning exactly as wide as Gaspar. “What is the short name?”  
  
“Guga! So I am going to call you Guga, because it's fast and loud and you will know that's you when I need you to look at me!” Gaspar ruffled his hair, and Gustavo beamed with glee.   
  
“Guga. I like it!”  
  
“As do I,” Hilario added, puffed up with pride. “Your Christian name is very special, but you must share it with everyone, as we share ours.”  
  
“Ah.” Gustavo frowned again, then rubbed at the cross Sereno had traced on his forehead. He turned to Sereno. “Can I share with everyone? Now?”  
  
“I welcome it. You may go, Gustavo.” Sereno motioned, and Gaspar hooked him by the elbow, eagerly leading him to the dining hall with the other workmen. Hilario turned to Sereno, still smiling.   
  
“A diplomatic solution,  _Senhor._  I am glad to have attended a christening tonight.”   
  
“But it is not his name.” Sereno folded his arms, then took up his Bible and put it back into his coat. “It is what he will accept, but it is not who he is.”  
  
“Is that what you think?” Hilario leaned forward, lacing his fingers in thought, obviously studying Sereno. Sereno hated his scrutiny.  
  
“He was given a different name. That is the name God deserves.”  
  
“Despite that, Padre, and forgive me for saying so – it is not his God.” Hilario paused as Sereno sealed his lips into a thin, angry line. “But one could also consider this his new identity as a civilized man.” Hilario squeezed his fingers where he'd laced them. “A re-christening, as it were. He is reborn as a civilized man.”  
  
“Is he?” Sereno raised an eyebrow, but did not wait for an answer. Instead, he gathered himself up. “You are dismissed. See to it that he uses his new identity.” He stormed away from Hilario. Irritation nagged at him, the thought that he was not allowed to know who the wild man was even after saving his life!  
  
And yet, Gustavo and Hilario both raised good points. Sereno hated to think that they were right, or at least that he was wrong. If nothing else, this compromise would help ensure that Gustavo was civilized, one way or another, and perhaps that was all that would matter.   
  
Gustavo spent the rest of that day learning the names of as many men in the fortress as he could, finding delight in calling their names and seeing them turn to face him; if names were as secret and sacred in his culture as he said, Sereno reasoned, there had to be a sinful sort of delight in it. He loved to be called 'Guga' by Gaspar and the other workmen who picked up on the name, smiling so big and bright that Sereno felt jealous that he could so easily attain such simple pleasures, but he had to come up with nicknames of his own for men whose names were difficult in his mouth.  
  
'Hila,' for example, clearly did not mind that Gustavo was calling him by a feminine name and patted Gustavo's cheeks. “Hila is fine; you may call me whatever you please.”  
  
Gaspar was an easy enough name, but when Gustavo finally returned to Sereno that night, he asked again: “Your name?”  
  
“I told you,” Sereno answered without rising from a kneel beside his mat. “Godofredo.”  
  
“No, no.” Gustavo shook his head hard, and Sereno frowned over his shoulder to where Gustavo stood behind him, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Everyone else says different.”  
  
It took Sereno a moment to realize. “Padre Sereno, they call me that because it is my title, like  _Capitao_ Xavier.  _Capitao_  is a title, if anyone ever called him  _Capitao_. So, Padre.”  
  
“Oh! I call you Padre?”  
  
For some reason, the thought made Sereno's cheeks a little hot. “If you must.”   
  
This got Gustavo grinning again, and the heat in Sereno's cheeks migrated into his gut, but he settled onto his mat across the room from Sereno's, eyes glinting in the faint light from the night sky. “Good night, Padre Godo.”  
  
Padre Godo. Sereno would thrash anyone else who said it, but something merciful in him would let Gustavo have that; it was only fair that Gustavo got to name him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yanomami
> 
> The Yanomami tribe is a small tribe of hunters that reside in the northern parts of the Amazon rainforest. There are approximately 32,000 Yanomami natives still alive today. Brazil and the Amazon basin still contain tribes that have not made contact with the civilized world, and the Yanomami who remain still exist much as they did when the Portuguese first colonized Brazil. They have limited contact with the rest of the world.
> 
> Yanomami names – In the Yanomami dialects, “to name” is the same as “to insult.” Usually, one's given name is considered an insult, or at the very least taboo. The Yanomami people are very reluctant to speak personal names or especially the personal names of the deceased.
> 
> There are four Yanomami dialects. Gustavo uses terms from Yanomamo.
> 
> Yanomamo terms  
> Yanomami thepe – Literally “humans,” or “human beings.”  
> naba – People who are not recognized as Yanomami thepe, outsiders, or a term for the white man.  
> hiitehi – tree   
> urihi – forest


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gustavo's education in the ways of the civilized man has just begun, and he has much to learn. He also may have much to teach.

**3:**

The next morning brought the supply shipment from Sao Paolo. Sereno watched the cart arrive through the oiled-paper window of his cell, as the workmen rushed to greet the mule-drawn cart. They hardly waited for it to stop before beginning to haul barrels and crates from the back and throwing them into the yard, hardly missing some of the slaves' huts. Gustavo had woken before Sereno but was more interested in practicing the buttons on the new shirt Hilario had given him up until the moment Sereno went to the window.   
  
“Good morning, Padre Godo!” He popped up from his mat and bounded to join him. Sereno grimaced at that in the cold light of day.  
  
“Do not call me that in front of anyone else. Padre is fine.”   
  
Gustavo made a noise, then shoved his head into the space between Sereno's chest and the window, and Sereno stepped back to let him stumble into the light. “It is the cart!” He grinned and spun around to Sereno. “I wish to help with the cart! Tell me to help with the cart!”  
  
“Fine.” Sereno waved a hand. “You may help with the cart, then we will get breakfast.”   
  
Gustavo whooped and jogged out, forgetting his shoes, but Sereno merely rolled his eyes and followed. Gustavo enjoyed helping to unload the cart, it seemed, if only because it was a lot of work and because it was followed by a hearty meal. The fish they caught in the river and the animals they could raise in what little space they had could only stretch so far for a camp of two hundred men and slaves, and the fruit from the trees and what few wild vegetables had been decided were safe to eat only kept good so long, but when the cart arrived, it came loaded. Barley and wheat, dried black beans, dried ham and sausages, smoked fish, and sometimes even pickled fruits and vegetables, all packed tight and sent like a blessing from God's very throne. Sereno knew – or at least prayed – the supplies would carry them until they could fully establish themselves in this place or until the effort proved impossible, but until then, it was a cause for celebration every fortnight.  
  
Sereno kept his distance as Gustavo ran to greet Gaspar where he waited with the other workmen, Gaspar with an enthusiastic, “Good morning, Guga!” and Gustavo with a laugh and a sloppy hug. They approached  _Capitao_  Xavier together, and Gustavo imitated Hilario's half-bow.  
  
“Good morning! I am Gustavo, and I would like to help with the cart!” He grinned, even as Xavier raised his visible eyebrow, then chuckled.  
  
“Fine, fine.” Xavier then narrowed his eyes at Gaspar. “You, take the crates of beans and stock them all in the pantry. The savage can go with you.” Gaspar's expression tightened.  
  
“As you wish.” He slapped Gustavo on the back. “Guga, we'll carry the boxes.” Sereno saw him hang his head and mutter something shaped like, “two years, only two years more,” and Gustavo followed, each of them grabbing up some of the boxes and carrying them back towards the kitchen galley. Xavier turned to the cart driver, smirking, and Sereno distinctly heard him say:  
  
“I don't know which one we can trust less, the savage or the Morisco. At least the Africans listen well if you beat them hard enough!” The pair shared another laugh, but Sereno saw Gaspar tense further before shaking his shoulders as if to roll the insult off. Gustavo, however, merely looked confused, but he walked a step closer to Gaspar.   
  
“I am glad it is not the whale oil. I do not like the icky fingers.” He made a noise of disgust in his throat, then looked significantly at Gaspar for a response – one that did not come. Gaspar's lips were sealed tight. Sereno casually turned to follow, pretending to open his Bible but instead watching their backs as they walked.  
  
Gaspar dropped the box onto the packed-earth floor of the pantry, perhaps a little too roughly, and waved on to Gustavo. “Let's hurry it up; if we want  _feijao_ , the cooks need the beans, aye?” He smiled crookedly, a forced gesture, and kicked the lid of the crate off. Gustavo puzzled, mouth tilting left and right, but he pulled the lid off the box, and Sereno sidled into the doorway to watch and listen a little closer.  
  
“You reach higher, high places first?” Gustavo took up two burlap sacks and passed them to Gaspar. Gaspar didn't move for a moment, then sighed.  
  
“Aye.” He put the first two bags up, then turned back for more, and the pair of them worked in tandem to unload and stack the burlap sacks on the shelves. After a few moments of working in silence, Gustavo paused in reaching into the boxes.  
  
“So, what is that mean?” He glanced back to Gaspar. “Mor-is-co.”  
  
“Morisco,” Gaspar corrected smoothly, the word as quick to his tongue as any insult directed at Sereno's back. “It's me. I'm Morisco. Or, rightly, my Mama was.”  
  
“Oh. But, why?” Gustavo threw the bag he had in hand down and put his hands on his hips. “You, Padre, Hila, all Portuguese, yes?”  
  
“Yes, mostly, but my Mama, the lady who made me, she was a Moor slave. Morisca. My father owned her and could do whatever he wanted with her, so he did.” Gaspar sneered, shoving the sack of beans up onto the shelf. “Funny, too; I looked more like him than his own rightful son. The lord's wife was this raven-haired beauty, and his son looked like her. Not me. Mama's skin, Papa's red hair. Everyone knew exactly where I came from. So, I'm half Portuguese, and called Morisco.” Gaspar tilted his hand left and right, indicating that he was both.   
  
“Oh.” Gustavo frowned, brow furrowed deep, and he muttered to himself for a moment, then lifted a few bags to pass to Gaspar. “And, what is lord?”  
  
Gaspar made a face. “Someone who owns a city, or a big enough chunk of land. So, the city we lived in, it was his. He was knighted and landed by Barcelos, and low gentry is still gentry. Hell, him being a nobleman's likely the only reason I lived.” He reached back for more bags without turning, and Gustavo passed them over as he kept talking. “Lords need heirs, and the Lord's wife couldn't have any more children after her son was born, but I was his, so they kept me alive in case my half-brother died before becoming a man. Everyone knew what I was. It gave them an excuse to treat me like trash.” He paused a moment, then sighed. “Even Mama.”  
  
Gustavo knit his eyebrows up, then tugged Gaspar's sleeve. Gaspar quickly turned around, putting a smile back on. “But, you see, I'm here, not there now. When my brother became lord, he knew of me and either liked or pitied me; he put me under protection so none could touch me and wanted to give me freedom. Of course, if he just set me free with nothing to my name, I'd have to sell myself back into slavery just to have somewhere to be.” He moved past Gustavo and grabbed two more bags, loading them under each arm. “He made an arrangement with Duchesa de Barcelos, for me to work as her servant for seven years, and she would grant me property, freedom, and citizenship.” He smiled, his gaze distant as he stacked up the sacks, as if he could see something through the walls. “I worked under her four years, then was sent to Padre Sereno for a time, and now, in but two years, I'll be free.”  
  
“Free?” Gustavo came up alongside Gaspar, as if to try and see what he was seeing.  
  
“Able to do what I please, go where I want. Have a home, maybe even a family. I've been kept a slave my entire life.”   
  
Gustavo frowned still. “Slave?”  
  
Gaspar turned and faced Gustavo, frowning back. “Kept. Owned. I am not my own man, see? I walk and talk like a man, but because I am owned by Padre Sereno, I am not. I am owned, like land, like clothes, like any possession.” He shoved the next sack up with more force. “I do what he tells me or risk being beaten, starved, even killed. My bollocks might as well be hung on his wall, but only for two years more.” He stepped back and down, still shoving at the black beans as he did. “Two years more.”  
  
Gustavo puzzled, still clearly filtering the words he didn't know with the ones he did. “You are owned. Kept?” He rubbed his head. “Beaten? What is--”  
  
Gaspar whipped around and slapped the wall. “Like this, but my ass!”   
  
Gustavo gasped and clenched both fists. “Padre would not–!”  
  
“He does it less than the Duchesa's head-of-house. The Padre keeps none other than Hilario, and Hilario would never raise a hand to me. Padre Sereno himself would rather not touch me.” Gaspar kicked the empty crate, then peered inside. “We're done. Let's see if they don't need anything else done.”   
  
Gustavo instead seized Gaspar by the sleeve and held him fast. “What keeps you? Run! Go! Away!”   
  
“Guga.” Gaspar caught his hand, smiling forcefully. “You know, there was a Guga at the Duchesa's. A Morisco, like me. He was an old man and kind to me, because no others were. He became ill and tried to run, hoping to die in the forests rather than in chains. He was caught, so they beat him 'til he died. Here, even if I were not caught, I would likely die in the wilds, even without the blight of sickness to aid me.” He let go of Gustavo, then smoothed his hair back. “It sounds dreadful to you, but I live it, so it is merely life. Besides, it is only two years more, and I will be free.” He swaggered towards the door, and Sereno swallowed hard and hurried from the doorway, then pretended to approach just as Gaspar emerged.   
  
“Were you finished?” Sereno asked, glancing between them. He couldn't help but notice Gustavo's rueful glare and Gaspar's taut expression, but Gaspar nodded, the twitch of his chin as sharp as a knife.  
  
“Aye.” He folded his arms. Gustavo growled faintly, the noise a rumble in his throat. Sereno, however, patted Gaspar's shoulder.  
  
“Good. Do not bother offering further help. Both of you, go eat breakfast. If asked, tell them it was at my instruction, and if they have a problem with it, to take it up with me directly.” Sereno withdrew his hand from Gaspar's bicep, not missing his slight flinch at the touch. Gaspar frowned, but smirked his surprise.  
  
“How very kind of you, Padre. Unusually so. Has the heat gotten to your head? Perhaps you should lie down.”  
  
“Make such a suggestion again and I'll have you carry me to bed.” He tried to keep his retort dulcet, but Gaspar sniffed at it anyway. “I will check on Hilario and send him to join you. You have worked hard this morning.” He about-faced to leave, but just as he did, there was a holler from the front of the fortress. Gaspar's eyes sparked, and he broke into a run to chase the noise, and Sereno and Gustavo traded looks and swiftly followed.  
  
Sereno saw all the men at the courtyard and more running from the fortress and huts, all with their weapons and knives out. There were still crates and bags strewn about, but Sereno could see something else – a person hanging out of a barrel, sprawled on the ground with his hands outstretched in front of him, nobody Sereno recognized. Certainly not one of his dubious flock of workmen or slaves, no: his features were fine and delicate, too distinct for the rough-and-ready men here, his long platinum hair bound with a yellow ribbon, and his clothes were too fine. Some of the African slaves were shouting to one another in their tongues, but Sereno could understand the gist of what the workmen were saying:  
  
“A stowaway!”  
  
“A thief!”  
  
“Rip his guts out!”  
  
Sereno had to speak: “Be civil, the lot of you!” He marched forward, just as Captain Xavier did the same.  
  
“What's all this, then?!” He took one look at the man on the ground, and drew his pistol. The man dared lift his face just as Xavier cocked back the hammer.  
  
“ _Sacredieu,_ ” he murmured, then, in stilted Portuguese, said: “Forgive me; I come in peace.”  
  
“He came,” one of the workmen volunteered, “hidden in a crate.” Some of the others laughed, but Sereno advanced on Xavier. He knew little of the French, but he knew already what Christ and Padre Henrique would say about this stranger:  
  
“Surely you don't mean to execute him without understanding why he is here.” Sereno eyed the man, scrutinizing him sharply, then turning a glare to Xavier. Xavier scoffed.  
  
“Of course not.” He rested his pistol on his hip. “We've got a lockup for drunks and criminals.” He shouted something dialectic to a few of the workmen. “Let him stew for a while! I'll talk to him when he's good and ready!”  
  
Some of the workmen came forward, one with a length of rope that he used to bind the man's arms, and hauled the thin man to his feet. The thin man shot Sereno an even look, but nodded. “ _Merci,_  Padre.”  
  
“I did not do it for your sake.” Sereno glanced back towards Gustavo where he looked on, then folded his arms. “It is God's will that we are kind to the stranger in a strange land.”  
  
The French man stared a moment longer, then bowed his head. He let himself be led away, and Sereno returned to Gaspar and Gustavo. “Breakfast,” he said, as if they needed reminding. “Then, Gustavo, I want you with Hilario for lessons.”  
  
“Who was that man?” Gustavo pointed at the thin man's back, and Sereno unconsciously followed the gesture to see the thin man looking back over his shoulder, directly at Gustavo, before being forced to turn again and be led away. Sereno snorted.  
  
“I do not know, and he does not look like anyone you know, either.” He motioned to the pair of them. “Breakfast and lessons, and Gaspar, whatever is needed.” He gave Gaspar a knowing look, then turned to depart. Gustavo stared suspiciously after him for a moment -- Sereno could feel his curious little eyes roving his back as if they could see through his ribcage and into his heart -- but then followed Gaspar, asking where Hilario was.  
  
Sereno wanted to know, too. Fortunately, he had a better idea.  
  
Hilario was in the galley already helping prepare breakfast, stirring a great pot of barley with a book open on the shelf before him, his hands turning the spoon but his eyes affixed to a page. As Sereno approached, however, he shut the book with a clever knock of the spoon handle and turned to face him with imitated respect. " _Senhor_?"  
  
"I would like you to explain the concept of civilization to Gustavo today." He drew himself up as tall as he could, shoulders back, as Hilario, his monocle sliding down his nose, frowned. "I will be listening to the lesson. We must teach him correctly."  
  
" _Senhor_ , you task me." Hilario bowed, a hand over his breast. "It is difficult to define even to one who speaks the language, and his understanding is incomplete yet--"  
  
"The simplest way you can explain, then." Sereno lowered his voice. "A stranger came into camp and was imprisoned. I do not want him to misunderstand." He chose not to mention the conversation he'd overheard, knowing better than to risk poisoning that well.  
  
"Ah." Hilario nodded. "Consider it done. May I?" He gestured to the pot, and Sereno nodded.  
  
"Feed him well today; he's working hard." Sereno turned on his heel, but faintly heard Hilario chuckle.   
  
“I suppose we can begin with the simple things...” Sereno thought nothing of it, until later in the day.  
  
As the afternoon wore on, as the workmen all went out to cut the trees and clear the land in the hopes of finding it arable in the spring, Hilario sat down under one of the trees just outside of the gates with Gustavo at his feet and several rolls of parchment. Sereno watched curiously from his place standing in the shade a few paces back, slate in his palm but eyes on the tableau of the lesson as Hilario unrolled one, revealing a landscape of Lisbon sketched in charcoal, of the Se in all her glory, the great Cathedral's face smiling down on a public street and onto the people in their day clothes, the market carts and women in dresses. It was breathtakingly accurate; Sereno felt homesick for a second. Hilario smoothed a work-worn palm down the edge of the page, his thin fingers rubbed smooth by days of washing and labor, but he smiled for Gustavo. “Today, I wish to teach you about Portugal.”  
  
“Portugal, is where you came, yes?” Gustavo looked down. “It's small!”  
  
Hilario laughed. “This is but a drawing, you see! I wanted you to see what it looked like, so I used pencil to create a picture, like the one in your mind. Can you not see things that are not there when you close your eyes and think of them.”  
  
Gustavo considered it, and nodded, then murmured, “ _Aiwa_.” He frowned for a moment. “But you make picture with... with...?”  
  
“Pencil, full of charcoal, to make a black mark.” Hilario demonstrated by tracing a line with his finger. “But this is Lisbon. You are Portuguese now, so you should learn about our home.”   
  
“Portuguese?” Gustavo laughed. “No, no, Yanomami. Portuguese is  _Naba._  Not me. Very different.”  
  
“Ah, but you are civilized, now, aren't you? You speak our language and wear our clothes.” Hilario smiled evenly. “You are acting more like us, you speak like us. Portuguese is who we are, our culture, what we wear, how we speak, how we think, the God that guides our hands.” Hilario turned to another picture, this one of a fine country home. Sereno thought it may have been the Duchesa's manor, but it could just as easily have been a similar summer house. “It is civilization. This is what it looks like.”  
  
“Not me. That  _naba_.” Gustavo used his finger to roughly trace a few huts surrounding a fire in the dust. “Yanomami, like this.”  
  
“Ah.  _Naba_  is 'other people, not like me.'” Hilario rubbed his chin as he thought, then fixed his monocle. “But is it bad to be  _naba_?” Gustavo hummed, then shrugged. “See, I don't think so. I think both can be good, but I am so very used to the way things are in Portugal.” He turned to another page in his drawings, this one of a neighborhood in the city, of pretty little houses with iron fences with ornate twists, the Manueline arches over the garden gates and parapets. “Ours is a culture of beauty and art.”  
  
“Beauty?”  
  
“Things that make your heart feel good to look at them, those things are beautiful.”  
  
“Oh!” Gustavo paused, then pointed around at the trees overhead. “Beautiful.” Then he paused, and touched Hilario's hand. “Beautiful, too.” He turned his gaze to Sereno and smiled, and Sereno's heart seized in his chest and wrought out a rapid retort:  
  
“Get on with the lesson proper.”  
  
Gustavo looked disappointed, but Hilario began to explain how the Portuguese lived, showing him more and more pictures. Sereno was curious over Hilario's drawings, how he'd said he'd done them, and yet he'd been unaware that Hilario had such talent. However, Gustavo was much more interested in disputing everything Hilario told him:  
  
“House, we have house. Much smaller, much easier to make, or remake if we move!”  
  
“Field, yes, but what skinny stuff? Wheat? Where is the maize?”  
  
“Ladies do not need clothes for beautiful. Ladies are beautiful, always!”  
  
“Why no  _urihi_? Nothing there but  _naba_!”  
  
Hilario could only scratch his head as Gustavo traced through the charcoal smears to draw trees in the middle of the road. “If there were trees, we could not all live so close to our neighbors – the people near us – and trade easily, and it would be much harder to travel.”   
  
Gustavo made a dismissive noise. “Don't need to be close. Better, further. Never know when...” He paused, mumbling something, then pointed at the picture again, dragging black lines between two of the gentlemen in the sketch. “ _Naba_ , neighbors, attack each other?”  
  
Hilario chuckled his surprise. “Goodness, no; rarely, at least.”   
  
“Ah!” Gustavo smiled approval at this, and Hilario smiled back.  
  
“As we are civilized, we all agree on certain things. There are rules we follow, laws, both from the sovereign king, and God, the king of kings. We are united by our laws, ways, and God, and so we all can--”  
  
“God?” Gustavo looked between Sereno and Hilario, just as Sereno lowered his chalk from his slate to listen. “What is?” Hilario did not answer, but craned his neck around to Sereno, and Sereno heaved a sigh.  
  
“God is...” Sereno stepped forward and gestured around them. “The one who made everything. The king of all kings, the light who guides us."  
  
"The sun?" Gustavo pointed upwards through the canopy.  
  
"He is above the sun; He created it."  
  
Gustavo frowned. "I see nothing above the sun. Too bright."  
  
"God cannot be seen, only felt, in your heart." Sereno gathered his thoughts, licking his lips. How to explain something that seemed so ubiquitous to him, the seed that had been planted in his heart at birth that now lived in his veins and guided his every action? "You feel Him when you see something lovely, because He is happiness. He exists in all things. He loves, protects, and guides you towards happiness--"  
  
"Ah!" Gustavo grinned knowingly, and Sereno already dreaded whatever was about to come out of his mouth. "Noreshi! Everywhere! Many! Watching us! Part of us!"  
  
"No," said Sereno sharply, and Gustavo wilted as if his strings had been cut. "There is one. One God, like there is one King on a throne. His is the Kingdom of Heaven, and whether or not we know it, we are his subjects."  
  
"But if you do not see, and you do not hear, only feel, how do you know?" Gustavo crossed his arms. His tones were of curiosity rather than challenge, but Sereno still felt burnt.  
  
"It is called faith. We believe in these feelings, and these feelings bring us together to serve our King."  
  
"But we see our God!" Gustavo gestured around, then patted the tree. "God here." He touched the earth. "God here. God in water, in air, in animals, many Gods, everywhere, we see them!"  
  
"Your gods are pagan images!" Sereno spat back. "They are not real because you see them, they are mere idols! You merely assign the true nature of God to meaningless objects because you don't know His truth yet."  
  
Gustavo stomped a foot on the ground. "You have nothing to say, 'this is,' your God is not real!"  
  
" _Senhor_?" Hilario suddenly raised a hand. "Might I suggest a compromise?" He gestured to Gustavo. "Our friend surely knows the glory of God, but perhaps he understands God in his way."  
  
Sereno balled his fists. "It is commanded that there be no graven--"  
  
"No graven images, no, but God made the trees and animals, earth and sky, in His own hand." He smiled peaceably. "The Gods you know are a single God to us, all the same hand to guide us."  
  
Gustavo cocked his head, his anger quickly receding. "So, all the Gods for me, are one God for you?"  
  
"They are one God for you, too, but you don't see it," Sereno muttered. Gustavo looked disappointed.  
  
"That's because you,  _naba_. I am Yanomami." Gustavo looked down, arms crossed in his stubbornness, and Sereno groaned in frustration and folded his arms.  
  
“The point here is, because we all love our God and our way of life, that unites us. There are those who disagree, and we must protect ourselves from them.”  
  
“I disagree.” Gustavo pointed down at one of Hilario's pictures again. “This, no  _urihi_ , no animals, no hunt? It's not like here.”  
  
“No,” Hilario agreed, caution in his voice. “Not yet. But we want to make it more like this, the way our civilization lives. A colony, a reflection of our home, here. I think,” he prevaricated, fishing through his drawings until he found a pastoral scene of a farmer looking over his fields, “we want to make this place more like this. Land for people to live, and grow things.”  
  
Gustavo frowned at the picture. He stomped the ground underfoot, then shook his head. “Like it like this. Don't want to be a colony.”  
  
“Hmm.” Hilario's struggle for words may not have entirely been for show, Sereno realized. “But this land is ours, so we want to make it the way we want it.”  
  
“And we must protect it,” Sereno insisted, before Gustavo could argue. “This is our home now, too. We want to share it with you.”  
  
This made something change in Gustavo's face, a lightness. “Share? Share.” He smiled. “Share with you?”   
  
For some reason, that made the strange tightness constrict Sereno's chest. “Yes; I want to share with you.” He broke eye contact and knelt to gather Hilario's drawings. “We should return; the sun's going down.”  
  
“Ah, so it is,” Hilario agreed, and Gustavo, still beaming from his last lesson of the day, didn't argue.  
  
Darkness fell swiftly in the thick forest, the night birds calling and distant frogs crying out either for loneliness or self-amusement. One of the Africans was lighting the torches around the walls, and a few of the workmen were readying to close the gates.  
  
“Fortunate you made it back, Padre!” A bald man with crooked teeth smiled at Sereno. “We open these gates for nothing after dark! You are lucky we do not leave you to the savages!” He laughed heartily, and though Sereno managed to temper his response to an annoyed hum, the workmen went completely silent as Gustavo followed him past. The gate key turned in the crank behind them, creaking as the gate lowered.  
  
“Ah,” Gustavo said as they passed by the slave huts, “Is there still supper?” He patted his stomach. “Too much thinking, not enough food!”  
  
“You only think with your stomach anyway,” Sereno sneered.  
  
“Ah, that's right!” Hilario snapped his fingers as he recalled something. “I meant to tell you of all the lovely things we eat in Portugal! I will have to draw you lovely images of the foods we eat at home...” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Gustavo whirled around to face him, walking backwards with a twinkle in his eye.   
  
“Tell me! Tell me!”  
  
“Ahaha!” Hilario's laugh was a little musical, almost too bright against the dark looks Gustavo still received from the other workmen. “I have no pictures, and it is dark, but oh my, where to begin?” Sereno tuned out their conversation and let himself drift in thought as he led the way back to the galley.  
  
It was on the way, however, that Sereno heard something strange: Xavier cackling with laughter. He stopped cold, and peered into the room it had come from, only to see the thin man in a barred cell, and Xavier standing outside of it, head tossed back and howling with laughter. Sereno motioned for both Hilario and Gustavo to stop, then to be silent with a clap of his thumb and index fingers together, just as Xavier recovered, bowing forward and holding his stomach.  
  
“That you would just say it like that!” He cackled again, clapping his hands together. “No, no, your Portuguese must be terrible; say it again.”  
  
“If I must.” The thin man shrugged his shoulders. “I am Modeste Simonet. My employer,  _Monsieur_  Jean DuGannes, sends his regards. We intend to take what is rightfully ours in this place, and I am here to examine your Forte Paz.” Simonet's expression and tone didn't change even one bit: “It is, as we believed, a convenient waystation to Sao Paolo, and easily will grant us access to Rio de Janeiro from our position at the northmost point of the continent. We hope that you will receive us with grace upon our arrival.”  
  
Xavier cackled again, tossing his head back, as Sereno's guts went cold. He shot Hilario a desperate, questioning look, as if he could convince him that he hadn't just heard that. Hilario shook his head, but before he could begin to whisper a response, Xavier drawled, “You're ridiculous. You sneak in, and when pressed, outright tell me you're a spy! My man, some rum in honor of your bollocks, because either those are the largest in existence or your brain is the smallest.” He swaggered from the cell to fetch two cups, as Simonet sighed.  
  
“You Portuguese, so vulgar.” He still accepted the cup as Xavier offered it, and sipped at the rum. “It is the simple truth. After all, you are an isolated outpost, but positioned well, about one-fourth of the way between the shore and Sao Paolo. General DuGannes will approach from the West, and we shall take this place and proceed Southward for your erstwhile capital. You should not be surprised that we are coming in a straightforward fashion; you are undefended, but for yourselves.” Xavier let out a derisive 'ha,' but Simonet merely sipped at the rum in his glass. “After all, your throne sits empty, and since you are the one speaking to me, I imagine you are the highest ranked man here. You have no leader.”  
  
“I am the leader.” Xavier wagged a finger, then tossed his empty cup aside, the wood bouncing and clacking off of the stones. “I took charge and have run this fortress for two years when our general died on the trip from home--”  
  
“And yet, you no doubt requested aid. You petitioned your Governor-General again and again, but received no reliever, am I wrong?” Simonet pursed his lips, as Xavier, grousing, grabbed up his empty cup and refilled it from a bottle he kept at his hip, and Sereno dodged back further from the door, keeping his toes out of the light from the cell's lamp.  
  
“Aye, well--”  
  
“A priest, yes, but no true leader, no superior, nobody to direct you. I have listened to your men and observed your progress before I was caught. You are merely aimlessly logging, shipping what you can and using the rest to build internally, but you have no plan.” Simonet clicked his tongue. “The Portuguese throne sits empty, the army in disarray with infighting, you are fortunate some well-to-do noblewoman thought to send you a priest. We will simply sweep in and succeed where you have not, as you lack the resources and wherewithal to do so, and take what is good for taking.”   
  
“You glorious ass.” Xavier paced impatiently, and Simonet laughed through his nose.  
  
“You are doing little to civilize this place for the God-fearing, after all. I still saw savages and heathens among your number. Who knows? If your succession crisis goes a certain way, you may be French soon enough anyway.”  
  
“It matters not to me who rules.” Xavier chugged a handle of rum straight from the bottle now. “I am still fed no matter who is on the throne or who is not.”  
  
“And is that what you truly want?” Simonet hummed inquisitively, leaning towards the bars. Sereno had found the man curious at first, but he'd gone from queer to eerie. His expression never changed, his face almost too flat; he was less lifelike than Hilario's sketches. “You are content to aimlessly take root here like the wild trees, happy merely to have a roof and not a proper home?”  
  
Xavier emptied the bottle into his mouth. “Content. Is that what I should want? The squall that took our general took my wife and infant son overboard in the same blow across the port side, tipping half our number into the ocean. They drowned in her roaring maw. I haven't been content since.” Simonet had no response, and Sereno heard Hilario clap his hands over his mouth. “See,” Xavier went on, gruffly, “I am not happy, no. I no longer ask to be happy.”  
  
“Is that so?” Simonet seemed to have gathered himself again. “And would you not prefer a civilization that might give you a new chance? A proper new home, a proper new life?”  
  
A horrid shatter and tinkling – Xavier had thrown his empty bottle at the wall. Sereno hooked Hilario and Gustavo by their collars and dragged them away before Xavier spoke again.  
  
“How horrifying,” Hilario whispered as they got out of earshot. Gustavo turned his gaze curiously between Sereno and Hilario as they ducked into an alcove of shotguns. “The poor man! And yet... to think we could be invaded!”  
  
“It won't happen,” Sereno muttered, then looked pointedly between the two of them. "It will not happen. God will protect us. This is where He has placed us, and here we shall stay."  
  
"But!" Gustavo's voice was a hiss spiked with excitement, and Sereno couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "What if their God wants them here more?"  
  
"Our God and theirs are the same, but their king is not." Hilario bowed his head. "And despite all of the things we love about our home country, we are in a succession crisis and have no king on earth."  
  
"Gods and kings." Gustavo groaned and held his head. "You are so confusing!" He quietly griped to himself in his language, and Hilario tapped Sereno's shoulder and spoke in a way directed towards him alone:  
  
"We should preserve  _Capitao_  Xavier's dignity. I suggest we tell nobody of what we have seen and heard tonight."  
  
Sereno wanted to disagree on principle -- his manservant didn't get to order him around – but it was, after all, a suggestion. "Do as you please. For my part, I will not say anything, as, and this goes for you too, Gustavo, we were not there. What was said was between the Captain and the man he was interrogating, not to us." He gave Gustavo a hard look. "Do not repeat it." Gustavo pursed his lips for a moment.  
  
"He said... his..."  
  
"The woman he loved," Hilario said under his breath. "And the child they shared."  
  
Gustavo understood that, and hung his head. "I will not tell."  
  
Sereno felt Gustavo grab his elbow and hold on as he guided them on a different path back into the fortress. He let him hold on as they walked. In a way, he understood the need to feel grounded when so much was changing around him.  
  
In the morning, Modeste Simonet was not in his cell.  _Capitao_  Xavier promptly concluded that he had escaped, and announced to all of the men gathered in the courtyard: "If he is seen again, he is to be killed on sight." Then, he gave all of them a roguish smirk. "If the monkeys and savages don't get to him first." Everyone laughed but Sereno, Hilario, and Gustavo, who all traded knowing glances and curious frowns, but true to their words, said nothing.

* * *

The cart came every two weeks with supplies, but after Christmas came and went and the rainy season began, bringing drowning rains nearly every day and cold raindrops like needles to pierce the skin and roofs, the shipments were delayed over and over. The selfsame rains made fishing harder and foraging just as difficult because every man feared that the basin would flood and carry them away. This resulted in rationing of the supplies they had down to very small meals, and Gustavo, more than anyone else, hated it.  
  
"Why do you complain of rain?!" He groaned into the small portion of porridge he'd been doled out for the third time in a single day. Rain, careless of his, and everyone's, complaints, drummed on, and Gaspar had to move his mug of cider out from under a leak that sprang from the ceiling. "Not a problem for me, but you all starve and complain! Always, rain this, rain that, it always rains like this!"  
  
"Does it?" Gaspar tossed the ceiling a dirty look.  
  
"Yes. Every time the weather gets cool, it rains for many days! And it is not a problem!" Gustavo crossed his arms. Hilario, who always seemed dampened on rainy days, merely sighed.  
  
"When does it let up?"  
  
Gustavo shrugged. "When the sun stays less, the rains come less."  
  
Shorter days. Hilario had long since told him that the seasons were reversed since they had crossed over to the bottom half of the globe. "So your entire spring and summer are a wet season?"  
  
"Spring? Summer?" Gustavo looked baffled. "No, it is wet when the sun is longer, and dry when it is not.” He fanned himself to emphasize: “But so very hot when dry! Rain better." He sulked back into his bowl. "Only rains during day. Cart can come in morning! Or at night! I want meat." He slapped at the porridge and crossed his arms, and Gaspar huffed and jabbed at him with his elbow.  
  
"Guga, you forget – Portuguese men aren't as tough as you."  
  
Sereno stood abruptly, sick of listening. "Hilario, pretend to be your usual self and teach Gustavo about the seasons. Gaspar, you're Portuguese too, and don't you forget it."  
  
"Feh." Gaspar drained his cup before any more rainwater could drip into it. “If I were Portuguese, I would be in Portugal and not getting rained on while trying to cut logs and dig stumps.” He rose up, but ruffled Gustavo's hair. “If the rain ain't a problem for you, then you come help me when Hilario's done with you, aye?”  
  
“Yes,” Gustavo muttered, then groused, in Portuguese for once, “Didn't need to cut logs or dig stumps before Portuguese...”  
  
Sereno rose to depart so Hilario could start lessons, but just as he went to walk away, his stomach growled noisily. He grimaced as Gustavo whipped around, eyes wide, and muttered, “You're not the only one going hungry.” He left quickly, determined to put his mind to something other than his empty stomach and Gustavo picking at him.  
  
The Sunday Mass would be good enough. He led prayers daily, but he had to know when Sundays came or he would lose track. Without seasons or proper calendars, knowing that every seven days he would sing and perform confession for every man was something to ground himself on.   
  
The next morning, sleeping on an empty stomach again, Sereno expected to be woken by hunger pangs. Instead, he woke in the dark to soft noises from the other side of the room, and blinked his eyes open to see Gustavo out of bed, scraping in the torch on his desk.  
  
“What are you doing?” Sereno sat up and squinted, but Gustavo grunted.  
  
“Helping.”  
  
Sereno, still baffled but too tired to worry more, growled, “It can wait until daylight. Go back to sleep.” He rolled over without waiting for Gustavo's answer, before his stomach could wake and remind him that he was hungry.  
  
He was woken again by a loud commotion from the dark outside, and when Sereno sat up, it was to see Gustavo gone, and he groaned and threw his robe over his shoulders to bolt towards the source of the noise. Sure enough, Gustavo was in the front of the fortress, at the gates, dressed with his shirt tied around his waist like he did his skins before, his face and bare chest painted with ash (from the lantern, Sereno realized with an unspoken oath), and throwing himself at the gate despite the two men trying to hold him back. “Open it! Going out!”  
  
“What on God's earth are you doing?!” Sereno stormed up to Gustavo and whipped him around, and Gustavo flung a hand at the gate.  
  
“I'm going out! I'm going to hunt!” He pointed to the forest, then to the sky. “It's not raining yet, so I'm going to hunt and bring food for everyone!”  
  
“Idiot!” Sereno had to stop himself from hitting Gustavo, instead clenching his fists tight at his sides. “You can't! It is Sunday!”  
  
“What on God's earth is a Sunday?! Is it delicious?! And if it is, then why are we all still hungry?!” Gustavo stomped his foot a few times, and while Sereno wanted to praise him for learning some of his language, he was caught between laughing and screaming.  
  
“Sunday is God's day! He told us we are to rest on it, and so civilized men rest!”  
  
“They work!” Gustavo pointed accusingly at the men standing by the gate, each of which nervously looked away, clearly not wanting to get involved.  
  
“Only because someone must watch the gate.” Sereno glanced to them for a second with a nod. Gustavo nodded too, understanding, but saying:  
  
“And we  _must_  eat!” He started to try to push the gate again, but Sereno grabbed him by the shoulder.  
  
“First, the gate does not open that way! Someone with the gate key has to turn the wheel!” He pointed to the empty crank setup. “And second, no. You may not hunt. You must come and listen to Mass like we do every Sunday.”  
  
Gustavo whined and shook Sereno off. “No, no Mass! Not when we're all this hungry!”   
  
“It will not matter how hungry you are in life if you pray and perform sacrament, for none suffer in the Kingdom of Heaven.” It was a line from a sermon Padre Henrique had once given to a slum during a famine, and though it sounded good enough, it had not been a comfort. It did not mollify Gustavo now, either.  
  
“I don't know where that is, but I'm here, now, and everyone is hungry!”  
  
The two men muttered to one another, how the savage didn't even know what Heaven was, and Sereno crossed his arms. “Heaven is God's kingdom above the sun, where we wish to go after we leave this earth. It is paradise! A good place!” he added, before Gustavo could demand he explain further.   
  
“But we are not there! We are here!” Clearly, it wasn't getting through, and Gustavo's face was starting to turn red under the ash paint. Worse, their row was attracting attention, with other workers coming out of the fortress and slaves crawling from their huts to watch. Sereno knew that the carrot had failed on the mule-stubborn brat, it was time for the stick:  
  
“And if you do not behave and follow God's laws while you are here, then you will go to hell and be in the grip of the Devil!”

Gustavo blinked back surprise for a moment, then scowled. "And what is a Devil? Can I eat that?"  
  
"Idiot, no! He is the enemy of God and all that is good, and he lives in the place you go after you die!" Sereno drew himself up. "Those who disobey God go to hell and burn under the echoing reverb of the Devil's maddening laughter, and those who fail to honor God will be dragged down into his pit!”  
  
“And so?!” Gustavo stomped his foot. “That is death! This is now! Why worry about then when we suffer now?!”  
  
“You don't understand. Life is meant to be suffering! Hunger, pain, unhappiness, those are God's punishment for sin, and those who fail to seek redemption in Christ suffer for eternity after you die! Life ends, but death is eternal. Life only lasts for now, but your suffering will never end if you disobey God.” He bored his gaze into Gustavo's face. “When death takes you, takes all of us, our souls wait in the Earth until Christ calls us, and then we are divided between paradise and hell.”  
  
“Paradise?” Gustavo knit his brow up. “Why would your God create a hell when he already had a paradise? If he loves, then why would he harm you?”   
  
“You heathen!” Sereno seized Gustavo's arm, unmoved bythe way he tensed under his grip. “He is like a parent! He loves, but he scolds, and hell would be your punishment for violating his Sabbath!” He dug his fingers in. “Do you want to know what eternal torment is? Would that help you understand? I could put a bullet through your head and you would find out, and you would meet the Devil and his horrid claws and horns.” He sneered. “But at least you would no longer be hungry.”  
  
Gustavo threw Sereno's arm off. “You would not do it!” He actually smiled at him, crooked teeth in a roguish grin that made Sereno shiver with something that was both anger and not anger. “I am not afraid of Devils! Devils are everywhere and there are many, and I do not fear them.” He set his hands on his hips, but Sereno shook his head and could only seethe back:  
  
“You should.”   
  
“You may be afraid of rain and devils, but if you respect their power, there is nothing to fear.” Sereno ground his teeth together, but Gustavo backed away from him. “You may have your paradise later, but I wish to be happy now. I am going.” He scaled the roof of one of the nearest huts and vaulted the wall as Sereno stared and the guards gaped.  
  
“ _Senhor_?” One of the guards tentatively extended a hand, but when Sereno whipped around and glowered at him. “Er, if he comes back--”  
  
“He'll come back, if he survives. Don't let him into the fortress, but summon me.” Sereno balled his fists again. “I do not wish to be disturbed until it is time to wake.” Without another word, he stormed back towards the fortress, back to his bed. The cell was too quiet without Gustavo on the other side; it felt too large. Sereno threw his back at his mat and glared at the ceiling, towards the sky above and Heaven beyond.  
  
“You test me,” he muttered. “I want to share Your paradise, but if I cannot steer him towards You, then I must drag him away from Hell. Is that not what I was sent here for?”  
  
God did not answer. Sereno sometimes wondered if he was meant to hear His voice at all, or if he was incapable of listening.  
  
When the fortress proper roused for the morning, Gustavo had not returned. Hilario asked why he had not followed Sereno from his cell to the galley, and Sereno told him to shut his mouth and mind his own problems, and when Gaspar asked Hilario where Guga was, Hilario could only shrug.  
  
“It seems a point of agitation for Sereno. I imagine we'll find out in due time.”  
  
Sereno did make a point of getting Gustavo's breakfast portion on the off chance he returned, but he waited all of ten minutes before dividing the boiled beans between his, Hilario's, and Gaspar's bowls. Then, he pushed his unfinished portion away, his stomach empty but his heart not desiring mush.  
  
Gustavo did not return for Mass. Sereno delivered morning prayers and devotionals at the top of his lungs, his only pleasure the echo of his song and the many voices who joined his from the makeshift pews and that echoed around him off of the stone walls and rafters. However, during Communion, when one of the guards knelt to receive the offering, he whispered:

“The savage returned with a boar, one of them nasty peccaries. He is sitting outside at your direction.”  
  
Sereno placed the wafer on his tongue, but held the wine at a slight distance and said, “Tell me the boar is dead, at least.”  
  
The guard quickly swallowed then coughed. “Dead and gutted. I've no idea how he got it back on his own, the thing is enormous.”  
  
Sereno thought of roasted pork and took a moment to pray silently that his stomach wouldn't growl too loudly. "Very well. Leave him waiting. He won't go anywhere." He let the guard drink the wine, crossed his forehead, and sent him on his way so he could bless the next man, but his thoughts were no longer on God's grace or forgiveness.  
  
When the last Amen echoed through Sereno's sanctuary and died out into silence, Sereno sent Hilario and Gaspar away, warning them not to interrupt him, and went to find Gustavo. Just like the guard had said, Gustavo was waiting in the yard, and Sereno recognized the part of the fortress he'd shaded himself in: he was sitting, crouched under the window of Sereno's makeshift cathedral. He grinned and waved, showing off the dried blood on his palms, and Sereno grimaced at the blood that streaked through his makeshift war paint. He strode towards him and stood towering over him. "There was a boar, I was told. Where?"  
  
"Kitchen." Gustavo still grinned, making no effort to rise and meet Sereno, a little smug and more than a little proud. "Rain is not a problem for me, but wet meat's no good. They said we will have stew for days!"  
  
Days? Sereno rubbed his jaw. "It was large, then."  
  
Gustavo tried to estimate with his hands. "Very large! Very, very, very, very, very large!"  
  
"How did you – never mind." Gustavo was gesturing something nearly as big as him, but Sereno had a feeling he couldn't put anything past the wild man. "I am cross with you. I am trying to make you a proper man, and you insist on defying me."  
  
Gustavo shrugged. "Not man. Yanomami.  _Naba_  can be man all you want, but I'm still Yanomami."  
  
Sereno gritted his teeth, ruing the sentiment he could read under that:  _You won't change me. Not for anything._  "I'm trying to save your soul, you know."  
  
Gustavo lowered his head. “I know you've been nice to me.”  
  
Sereno ground his teeth together nearly hard enough to crack the enamel. “I've done no such thing.”  
  
“You did save my life.” Gustavo started tracing little shapes in the dust, his self-confidence seeping out of him into the shadow from the clouds gathering overhead. “I never thanked you for that.”  
  
Sereno started with surprise, then pursed his lips. “I did it because it was the moral option. Standing by would have been a sin on my own soul.” He crossed his arms and tossed his head back. “Besides, you would have made an awful noise if they'd tried to do anything else with you. It would have been a headache that early in the morning.”  
  
Gustavo laughed, then pushed himself to a stand. “I am still happy you did it. I know I am an ache in the head sometimes now --” Sereno snorted, since those were not the words he would have used, but Gustavo went on: “And I am sorry I argued with you.” He bowed his head, and Sereno frowned.   
  
“You're sorry you argued. Is that it?” He studied the top of Gustavo's head, the wild hair, wild eyes disguised under his fallen face. Perhaps there were things he could not change about Gustavo, but the self-reflection to apologize was something some civilized men still failed at. Even so... “And will you do anything differently?”  
  
“I will avoid the arguing.” Gustavo grinned. “And I will attend Mass next time.”  
  
Sereno raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you will now?”  
  
Gustavo turned and pointed at the window. “I was here the whole time and listened to you sing. You never sing like that before.”  
  
“Sang,” Sereno muttered without thinking, and then considered what he actually said. “And what do you mean by that?”  
  
“The sound, when you sing with all your heart?” Gustavo pointed, a slow, sly smile crossing his features, and even in the darkness of the gathering storm, his eyes were bright and luminous even in the dim daylight. “That is paradise.”  
  
Sereno felt his face get hot. “You're talking nonsense.” He hooked Gustavo by the arm. “The rains are coming. We should go back inside.”  
  
“Ah, yes.” Gustavo glanced up. “It will be heavy today. At least, even if it is wet, we will have food, yes?”   
  
“So we will,” Sereno conceded and led Gustavo back in and out of the gathering darkness. Half of him wanted to curse himself for being so forgiving, but another part of him could at least be grateful that the important parts of Gustavo were changing. The last part of him, and perhaps it was a larger part than he might care to admit, liked the Gustavo that smiled at him now.  
  
The boar was delicious. Not a single person cared that it had been slaughtered on a Sunday, but every man wanted to hear how Gustavo had taken it down. As he stood on the table, retelling his morning hunt, how he'd tangled the beast's legs in the vines until it couldn't move, then cut its throat and belly, Sereno listened with something between annoyance at his bragging and what might have been pride. 


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Gustavo continues to learn, someone else arrives to teach him and the rest of the Portuguese colonists a lesson...

**4:**

The rain continued to come, but Sereno was adapting. He had gotten used to feeling for the humidity to shift and accustomed to the leaks. The workmen were also getting faster and patching the leaks, and shipments from Sao Paolo had become more robust (on Xavier's repeated demands). Sereno willingly let Gustavo hunt on days that were not Sunday, but in addition to boars and strings of fat birds, he would also bring back nets of melons and coconuts. Even better, Gaspar reported one morning, they'd finally gotten a full acre completely clear.  
  
“They're talking about tilling soon,” Sereno heard him confide to Hilario while passing by the galley. He halted, stilling Gustavo at his side, to listen. “And then, houses. Real houses! Isn't that something?” Gaspar leaned over Hilario and grinned with all of his crooked teeth, as Hilario continued to carve slices of smoked ham for the afternoon meal without looking up. “Actual houses, not just the palm-leaf huts and the dank, crumbling fortress.” He spun, grinning at the ceiling now, but jabbing at Hilario with an elbow. “In just a year and a half, now, one of those houses can be mine. I'll have my land to till, I'll have a house, a real house, in this new world. How about you, eh?” He wagged an eyebrow at Hilario. “When you're free, maybe you can raise chickens from your own house, aye? Grow lettuce and carrots? Tobacco, too, there's the real money. Sereno will have to pay you!”  
  
Gustavo frowned and tugged Sereno's sleeve at this, but Sereno hushed him and listened intently as Hilario forced a good-natured chuckle. “Ah, well. We will see. I have no designs on any of that, yet.”   
  
“No?” Gaspar frowned, eyebrows knit.   
  
“Er, no. Ah, my servitude is by choice, so I've no expiry date.” Hilario smiled wearily at the knife in his hands, then dragged a melon that Gustavo had brought back from his forage onto his cutting board. “I'll work until I no longer wish to work for Padre Sereno, at which point, if I can scrounge funds to purchase land, I will, but if not, I will find some other home in which to serve.”   
  
“Ah, Hila.” Gaspar squeezed his shoulder in obvious sympathy, then ran his hand down his back to rest above his hip. “You can come and work for me, aye? I likely won't be able to pay you, but I'll let you raise chickens and tobacco with me. I don't know how to grow things anyway.”  
  
Hilario laughed again, softly, but with an undercurrent of something tender and painful. “I suppose we can see.” Then, he handed a slice of melon to Gaspar and lay a few slices of dried ham on top of it. “Here, keep your strength up. I'd love to hear about another acre cleared by tonight, if you would.”

Gustavo tugged Sereno's sleeve again, as Gaspar, laughing, teased Hilario about his unrealistic demand. Sereno whipped around, ready to hiss an order to keep quiet about this, but Gustavo, wide-eyed and already salivating, pointed. “I would like melon and ham, too.”  
  
“Then go get it, you greedy ape!” Sereno shooed Gustavo off, then stormed off, his heart tight in his chest. Listening to Hilario and Gaspar talk about their lives like they were so hard – Gaspar's misfortunes were not his own, but Hilario himself said he'd become a servant by choice! Besides, they were on a great, important mission from God, to save this new world. They should have been happy to have been invited at all.  
  
And yet, that notion stung at another raw nerve that Sereno was discovering. Namely, that he had done very little to save the souls of this strange new place, he'd merely been protecting those who already knew of God and his teachings, and at the same time, wondering just how much of this New World needed saving.  
  
Gustavo listened to Mass, but he still did not differentiate God in Heaven from the gods he saw all around him. Sereno, exhausted and exasperated, was near ready to give up and tear his hair out. Every lesson was becoming a negotiation as Gustavo learned better how to speak and think in Portuguese, as Hilario would sketch more pictures of civilized life and explain protocol, and Gustavo would explain right back how he'd done things. He talked of war songs and of the vicious fighting with nearby villages, the war cries that echoed through the night before and after raids.   
  
Gustavo was curious about the wheat and barley fields grown by the Portuguese, but he laughed wistfully when talking of growing tobacco and cassava, and planting seeds from only the sweetest fruit they had found. He nearly howled himself to tears about a debate between two men over whose melon had been better which had ended in a fight and neither melon's seed being planted.   
  
Hilario, his delicate cheeks painted like a porcelain doll's with embarrassment, described the formal courting rituals of wooing and romancing young ladies, of the kiss bestowed at just the right moment. Gustavo had begged Hilario to show him this 'kiss,' but Hilario hurriedly insisted, “It is only something to be done to the most beautiful woman, the one you wish to keep forever.” Gustavo had to be satisfied with one of Hilario's drawings (and where Hilario kept finding clean parchment, Sereno would never fathom). Gustavo, in return, bluntly explained his people's courting rituals with eligible women – leaving both Sereno and Hilario red in the face, Sereno crossing himself and muttering about 'sins of the flesh,' and Hilario quickly informing him, “When the Governor-General does send women to assist us, you will have to curtail that entirely.” Gustavo did not look too disappointed, but he shrugged off any attempt to counter that his way was not the way things should be done.  
  
The only thing Gustavo didn't argue was Hilario's lesson on family, instead listening with his lips sealed, until Hilario asked him directly:  
  
“What were your mother and father like? Were they married, or promised to only love each other?”  
  
Gustavo answered stiffly, “Don't know. Only  _aiwa._ ” He rubbed his lips. “But... prettiest ladies pick strongest warriors, and keep him. The best warrior brings home the most meat.”  
  
Hilario smiled wryly. “I suppose Portugal is much the same.”  
  
More and more, it was becoming clear that Gustavo considered the way he had lived "civilization" in its own right.  
  
Gustavo liked what he had gained, but he still did not see the flaws in his old ways. Sereno wondered if, perhaps, God had been here guiding them all along and Gustavo and his people merely saw it all through different eyes and understood it in different words. There may have been no Bible here, but there seemed to be no written word at all.  
  
Sereno had demanded Hilario focus on teaching Gustavo to read and write, and even granted him the use of the slate he used to draft his homily. He would merely sit nearby and listen in on the lessons, admitting curiosity only to himself over what Gustavo might try to teach them back.  
  
However, one humid evening when the rains had ended early found Gustavo was asking questions today: “ _Criado_ , that's you, yes? It is funny that your name is  _Criado_  and you are  _o criado_!”  
  
“ _Servo_ ,” Hilario corrected gently. “ _Servidor_ , too.”   
  
“Servant is servant, yes?” Gustavo cocked his head. “Is a difference between a servant and a slave, yes?” He grinned, and Sereno listened closer. He could already smell mischief.  
  
Hilario, who had been laying out a collection of sketches of different foods in the dirt yard behind the kitchen, frowned as Gustavo sat forward on his haunches, more interested in Hilario than his drawings for once. “A difference?” His gaze flicked to Sereno for a moment, then back to Gustavo. “Servants are paid, in food, shelter, and a monetary stipend. In addition, slaves are usually not enslaved by choice. I have chosen to serve Padre Sereno.”   
  
“Oh.” Gustavo rubbed the back of his head, shifting his mouth as if he were chewing on the thoughts. “Why?”   
  
“Why,” Hilario repeated, and laughed. “Because he needed someone like me, who can handle things he cannot. I handle such tasks –” Sereno felt Hilario's gaze glance off of him again, then back to Gustavo – “And he houses me and keeps me busy.”  
  
“But you have to do what he tells you, yes?”  
  
Sereno knew Hilario had looked right at him that time. “Er, yes, if I wish to remain employed.” He forced cheer as he turned back to Gustavo. “And I really should not like to be dismissed this far from other job opportunities, you see.”  
  
“But, if you were not a servant, what would you be?” Gustavo sat back on his palms, smiling peacefully. “I do not like to be told what to do, it cannot be good for you, either. Can you live making drawings?” Gustavo picked up one of Hilario's sketches, and he hurriedly took it back.  
  
“It's something I do for fun, really. Not to live on.” Hilario fixed his monocle and lay the drawings down again, then drew his hands away from them. “Gustavo, really, we must get to our lesson. I'd like to teach you how to write some common foo–”  
  
There was a sudden commotion from the front of the fortress, the crack of a gun being fired, and Sereno jumped to a stand. A thrill shot down his spine, like the bullet had passed his ear, and he turned to Hilario and Gustavo. “Come. We may not be safe here alone!”   
  
He hurried towards the front of the fortress, hoping to find safety in numbers, though he also knew he was approaching the danger. Then again, that was part of his duty, in a way: to stand between his flock and anyone who might imperil them. He thought briefly of Padre Henrique's final moments, the way they had been recounted to him, and tried not to wonder if he had been frightened when the encroaching savages were beating down his door.   
  
Sure enough, Captain Xavier was standing with a line of workmen, all holding their rifles at the ready, pointed at a gathering of men in strange uniforms. Strange, but not unfamiliar, especially when Sereno recognized Modeste Simonet, holding an arm out to stay them. He said something that sounded remotely like, “Hold your fire,” and Sereno tensed. Who had fired first? Captain Xavier did not lower his rifle, but ground out, "Which of you is in charge of this?"  
  
"That would be me," a snide, smug, overconfident voice answered in stilted Portuguese. A few soldiers stepped aside to let a man in ornate uniform emerge to the front of the pack from where he had been behind his lines, his gold tassels wilting against the powder blue of his coat in the humidity, hat cocked on his narrow face guised behind spectacles over long black hair bound in a braid. He slid his gaze over the Portuguese men gathered, arms at shoulders, and said something in French towards Simonet. Sereno only caught "group," and could only assume their general had insulted them. Simonet forced a chuckle, lips pursed, then said something short and curt that Sereno couldn't make out. The general advanced towards Xavier. "You cannot possibly be the leader."  
  
Xavier's face went ruddy; his knuckles went white on the barrel of his rifle. "I'm the highest ranking man here. We're without a general, but I am the captain of this outpost, Balduino Xavie--"  
  
"I will not speak such important business to a mere  _capitao_." The general tossed his hair. "No. I am a Catholic Knight. We come here at God's direction. I will speak to your man of God."  
  
Xavier groaned and turned helplessly back towards Padre Sereno. Sereno glanced to Simonet, wondering if perhaps he had warned this general about Xavier or had suggested that Sereno might be more sympathetic. This thought was chased by a burning anger that Simonet had mistaken Sereno's mercy for sympathy. He leaned to Gustavo and murmured, "Stay with Hilario and Gaspar," gave Hilario a look that he could only hope conveyed the weight of this responsibility, and stepped forward.  
  
"I am Padre Godofredo Caldeira de Sereno," he announced, moving forward and through the workmen. He stopped at a distance from the French general -- ignoring his gleeful grin -- and said, firmly: "I am not the leader of this mission. I am merely a priest."  
  
"Padre Sereno!" The general sounded nearly choked up. "There is no such thing as being 'mere' and a priest!" He fell to his knees, genuflecting (much to Sereno's humiliation), as he exhorted, "I am General Jean DuGannes, of His Royal Majesty's Expedition Army of France."  
  
"Then I suppose I must welcome you to the royal colony of Brazil, territory of the Portuguese crown." Sereno crossed his arms tight as DuGannes rose to stand again, still simpering and smiling, wringing his hands.  
  
"Ah, but Padre Sereno, is it not true that no man wears the Portuguese crown today?" DuGannes giggled like a coquette. "Your kingdom has been abandoned by God, and yet here you stand, nonetheless. You have no leader in royalty or military, so a leader of God is all I can ask for." He extended a hand. "But your sponsor is kind to send you. Imagine, they cannot send militia, but a priest, yes, and just think how much more valuable you are! These men's lives will be short." His smile verged on vicious for a split second, before his expression quickly switched back to mollification. "How fortunate it is that they have someone to take their confession and give last rites."  
  
“Do you mock me, then?” Sereno tightened his scowl, but DuGannes hurriedly clicked his tongue and waved his hands.  
  
“ _Non, non, non jamais!_  Merely, they are fortunate to have a herald to Christendom at all, since your country was abandoned by God and beset by--” DuGannes' eyes flicked over the crowd, and Sereno saw him spot Gaspar. “Heathens.” Gaspar scoffed audibly, the only noise from the observers, but DuGannes shrugged with his hands out. “But then, you invite them amongst you and barely suppress their wicked ways, what else can you expect, eh?” DuGannes tried a haughty laugh, but Sereno felt no humor.   
  
“I expect them to obey the laws of God, as I would any man who considers himself part of Christendom. The men here may be a motley bunch, but they try to be good Christians. That is to say nothing of prideful, arrogant men who barge into another's home.” His nostrils flared, but DuGannes chuckled softly.  
  
“Forgive me, Padre; my Portuguese, it is so-so at best. But if you suggest we attacked you, then I'll have you know your man fired first.” He motioned to the workmen. “We defend ourselves, you understand.”  
  
Sereno snorted, unmoved. “And what is it that brings you to our doorstep?”   
  
“To the point, you are.” DuGannes leaned forward, smirking again. “Padre, it is a simple question. You can see that our kingdom is blessed, and France has long been the driving force in spreading Christendom to the untamed West. A wise man such as yourself can surely see that your Portugal has been abandoned, and with your territory protected by neither King nor God, it is and should be ours for the taking. I ask that you turn control of this outpost over to me.”  
  
Sereno raised an eyebrow, then cleared his ear with his pinky. “For one who speaks Portuguese poorly, you talk too much.”  
  
DuGannes scowled, and his demeanor shifted again. “Padre, all I ask is that you join our holy mission. We are clearly your betters. Look at us! Look at you!” He laughed sharply as the workmen began to growl and grouse to one another. “I could protect you better, if nothing else. You are in danger here. There are heathens and savages amongst you even now!” He pointed directly at Gustavo, who started, then looked between Gaspar and Hilario in confusion. Sereno glanced back just long enough to see Gustavo trying to ask either of them what DuGannes was saying, but forced himself to focus on the task at hand.   
  
“Those heathens and savages do their part to reclaim this place for civilization, as well.”  
  
“Ah.” Something lit in DuGannes' clever eyes. “And so do ours. Commodore Omer!” One soldier in the line lowered his rifle and stepped forward, then pulled his hat off. Tan skin, wiry black hair, and a confident smirk like a prisoner who had broken free of his chains. “Commodore Hercule Omer, you see, was born of the savages of Henriville–”   
  
“-- the failed Calvinist colonies left survivors that did not kill each other arguing over Protestantism? Color me surprised,  _Monsieur_  DuGannes.” Sereno sneered, but DuGannes, flushing, merely spoke louder:  
  
“Unlike the Portuguese, our natives are civilized. Hercule is a valued soldier whose wildness makes him an asset rather than a risk, not merely a monkey screeching on the end of your chain.” DuGannes motioned to Omer, but looked to Gustavo. “They say the savages of Brazil cannot be tamed, but we have already succeeded where you have failed.”   
  
Hercule laughed softly, but crossed past Sereno to examine the Portuguese workers. “Don't you agree, General...” His Portuguese was smooth, his movements sibilant and liquid, and he approached Gustavo directly. “There is a certain charm to it.” He touched Gustavo's face, and Gustavo's eyes went wide with panic. “If my mother's people were more cooperative, they could make charming slaves. Better slavery than savagery.” Gustavo pushed Hercule's hand off.  
  
“Better wild and free than slaved.”  
  
“You're living a dream.” Hercule pushed Gustavo back by his chest, making him stumble, but paced a few steps back. “There will be no wild and free, boy. We are building a new world here, and it will be ours. You will either join us as civilized men, or...” He spun around, drawing a saber from his belt and putting it straight at Gustavo's throat. “You, and all the other criminals, lowlifes, savages, and heathens will die like the trees you fell.”  
  
Gustavo inhaled, but Gaspar burst past him and shoved Hercule by his chest. “You wanna talk about heathens, pick on one your own size!” Hercule stumbled a step, but bounced back and seized Gaspar by the shirt, lifted him, and threw him into the fence. Gaspar hit the post with a crack and slid to the ground, and Hilario gasped and hurried to his side. Nobody else moved to help him, all frozen in place, as Gustavo stood, shaking in place with his fists at his side, but Hercule swung back around to face Sereno.   
  
“You can join us willingly and fly our flag, and join civilization, or be crushed like the rest of the savages in this untameable forest.”   
  
Sereno couldn't tear his eyes from Gaspar, limp in a heap on the ground, Hilario frantically trying to rouse him, until he realized DuGannes and Hercule were waiting on him. He whipped back around and drew himself up. “If you call that civilization, then call me a fishwife. God sent me here from Portugal for a reason. You have given me no reason to cede our claim on this place to you.”  
  
Hercule inhaled, suddenly seeming larger, his face red as if inflamed, and he advanced on Sereno furiously and seized him by the collar. “I shall introduce you to your God and have Him give you your reason!”   
  
Gustavo shouted and launched himself at Hercule, roaring in his own tongue, and all of the French soldiers turned their guns towards him. Xavier shouted a command, and as Hercule dropped Sereno, Sereno ducked low and covered his ears as gunfire roared around them.   
  
The next thing Sereno could make sense of was DuGannes crying out for retreat, and he lifted his head to see the French soldiers turning tail and running. Then, he looked back and saw half of the Portuguese workmen on the ground, bleeding from pellet wounds and worse. Gustavo was shouting at the gates in his own tongue as Xavier and three others cranked the gate shut, his shirt torn, pants ragged, and blood dripping off of his head, arms, and hands.  
  
Sereno knew not what else to do or who to turn to, because God could not or would not intervene, but he could shout, “MEDIC!,” then hurried to Gustavo's side to look him over. Gustavo did not stop screaming or throwing his fists back, and though Sereno tried to wipe the blood away, the tears running from his eyes did a better job than Sereno's dust-stained palms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Portuguese terms:  
> Criado, Servo, Servidor – servant.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the colonists recover from the tumult of the French attack, Sereno begins to take his own lessons seriously.

**5:**

They had no general, but they had a field medic, and enough men were uninjured that they could clear all the benches from the sanctuary and lay the men out on blankets there so the medic could get to all of them easily. There were many, too many to count, but Sereno and every well man carried them in and laid them out. By sundown, there was a count: sixty of the two hundred men in Forte Paz, including Captain Xavier, were injured, three already dead and bled out.   
  
By moonrise, four more had joined the dead. By midnight, twelve.   
  
Gaspar and Gustavo were not among them, as Sereno ensured with Hilario whenever either man was not doing what he could for the injured – Sereno standing by and holding hands and muttering prayers as the medic removed bullets and a few limbs or put in stitches and tied bandages and tourniquets, Hilario holding men down for the same. Gaspar had woken a few minutes after the shooting had stopped, confused and delirious, but alive. He slept on and off, but Hilario reported that he seemed more lucid each time he woke.  
  
Gustavo's wounds were superficial. Sereno had bandaged him personally, as the medic refused to touch him, but the moment Sereno finished with him, he ran off. Hilario reported, “I found him standing at the gate, staring at it. He hasn't moved from there and did not react when I offered him food, but he's alive.”   
  
“Fine.” Sereno looked back at the sanctuary laden with moaning, groaning bodies, lives fighting and fading under the pale moonlight, and then to Hilario. “Keep Gaspar alive. We need every living body we have left.”  
  
"Why, Padre." Hilario stretched his mouth into an unnatural smile that made Sereno's guts twist. "You must be careful about saying such things. Others may get the wrong idea that you care." He abruptly turned on his heel and strode away towards the mat where Gaspar was laid out, his whole body taut. If Sereno weren't as exhausted as he was, he would have wheeled Hilario right back to him and slapped him, but even if he did have the strength to force Hilario around, he likely wouldn't have bothered. Let him be an asshole. He was only human, after all. Just like everyone else.  
  
"Padre." Sereno's reverie was interrupted by a nearby voice, one of the younger men peering out through the sanctuary door. He hardly had a mustache yet, and in this wan moonlight, he looked smaller and younger than any man who belonged here. Sereno approached him, only to see he had a small gaggle of men behind him. "Padre, some of us are going to flee at dawn. Please come with us, it's not safe here."  
  
Sereno raised an eyebrow. "And you think we will be safer out there?"  
  
The younger man bowed his head. "I do not know, but if we stay here, we'll surely die when those men return."  
  
"And what makes you so certain they will return?"  
  
"You heard that General,  _Senhor_ , they want our fort. They'll come back, likely with more men and better prepared, and they were dangerous enough already." The younger man fidgeted as Sereno inhaled his building fury. "Please, Padre, they are stronger than us, better than us. We have no leader in this wilderness but you, and you are not a man of war, but a man of God."  
  
"And so?" Sereno drew himself up tall and spoke a little louder. "Did God not give us strength to fight at the walls of Jericho? To survive forty days in the desert?" A few of the men roused to listen as Sereno crossed towards the front of the room. "We came here, this far West from our motherland, for many reasons, but all of us are here to begin new lives in this land that is newly ours." He reached his lectern and drew himself up tall. “God made man and woman in his image and gave them new land just the same! Eden was their new world. They had neither matching uniforms nor weapons, only God to follow and a garden to live in!” He put his foot down hard and glared around the room as the few strong enough to sit up and listen did. Gaspar had roused, and Hilario had turned to listen too. “They were told to go forth and multiply.” Sereno glared around the room. “And so they did. We were sent to come here and make this world livable, and so we shall. God sent us here just the same, and so long as we persevere, we shall thrive!”  
  
There were 'Aye!'s heard from around the room, and Gaspar raised his voice from his cot to laugh, “We can't multiply, there are no Eves!” Laughter echoed back, the first joyful noise heard all afternoon, louder even as Gaspar followed up, “Though the Padre probably doesn't mind, does he?” Sereno ignored him and the laughter, but strode for the mat where Xavier was laid.   
  
“ _Capitao_ , I wish to carry a pistol. Where is the armory?”   
  
Xavier rolled his good eye towards Sereno and tried to turn to face him, heaving softly as his hand shifted to his wounded side. “At least someone remembers who I am.” He jerked his head towards the door. “Between the kitchen and the cells. I don't know if it'll do you any good, but wear it well.”   
  
Sereno could feel Hilario watching him as he left again, one lit candle in hand, and heard him follow as he crossed the silent, emptied fortress for the armory. He knew Hilario had followed, saw his shadow cast from behind him as put his candle to the lanterns on the armory wall, then perused the rifles and pistols hung on the wall. “Is there something you wanted?”  
  
“To compliment your sermon.” Hilario at least sounded contrite. Sereno merely scoffed.   
  
“It was not meant to be one.” He turned an arquebus over in his hands, then screwed up his face at the thought of that heavy barrel and the stand weighing him down. “They were talking nonsense. I had no intention of letting it stand.”  
  
Hilario hummed, and Sereno noticed him shuffling his feet. “It was what they needed to hear, though. That God was still with them.”  
  
“God has nothing to do with it. I am not a priest for God's sake, but my own.” He passed by a rack of rifles, shaking his head. All too big, too heavy. He wanted something small, easier to conceal. “I did not want to marry and knew not what else to do with myself. My mentor was happy as a priest, leading others on the path of God. I hoped to do the same.”  
  
Hilario was quiet, but Sereno could all but feel him pursing his lips. “Are you?”  
  
Sereno did not answer, but instead found a few wheellock pistols mounted on a rack near the back of the room. “Ah.” He took one down and examined it. Not quite as long as his arm from elbow to wrist, looked simple enough to use. Padre Henrique had once showed him how to fire a gun on the off chance he was conscripted when he'd come of age, and Sereno knew well enough how to load and fire. He wouldn't be quick about it, but he would be able to fire it when it counted. “This is what I need.”  
  
“For an emergency?” Hilario came a few steps closer, but Sereno pivoted to face him and pointed the pistol to his own head.  
  
“If I must meet my maker, then I will do it when I choose to do so, and no sooner.” He put the pistol in his pocket. “Suicide may be a sin, but so is cowardice. I will not capitulate, and I will not let them take my life.”  
  
“So you are willing to die, but are you willing to live?” Hilario was no longer looking at Sereno, and he crossed his arms. Sereno sniffed and held his head high.   
  
“That is my resolve. I will live.” He marched past Hilario. “Where is Gustavo?”  
  
Gustavo was precisely where Hilario had said he was, staring over the gate where the moon sank and the sun was just beginning to consider rising, his wide eyes golden and shining like a beast's in the dying moonlight. Sereno could not forget that he was feral, wild, but in moments like this, it was clearer than ever that even though he dressed and spoke nearly like a civilized man, he was not. Sereno strode across the yard towards him, over the footsteps scraped in the earth from the scuffle, and stood at his side. “What is it you are looking at?”  
  
Gustavo's answer came in a whisper: “Where did they go?”  
  
Sereno pursed his lips. “Back to their camp to prepare, I'm sure.” Gustavo, however, shook his head hard.  
  
“No. Not them. Not that Hercule.” He stomped his foot and released a string of invective in his first language, then growled, “ _Aiwa._  My  _aiwa,_  just like the others!”   
  
“ _Aiwa_?” Sereno had heard him use the word before. “If you don't know where it is, then how am I supposed to know?”  
  
“They're like the others,” Gustavo repeated, shaking his head. “They couldn't fight back. It was the Portuguese, and—”  
  
“Padre!” Someone was shouting from the door, and Sereno whirled around glaring to see the medic standing there, as pale as the fog over a cemetery. “ _Senhor_  Banderas is fading. I can do no more. Please prepare him.”  
  
Gustavo followed as Sereno hurried back to the sanctuary to see a few men gathered around one of the mats. Sereno knelt beside him, the man's skin too pale against his dark hair, his eyes unfocused, and swallowed twice before taking his hand. “Have you any sins to confess, my son?”  
  
“Padre?” His voice was raspy, voice stretched, throat dry, and he strained to meet Sereno's eyes. “I...” Sereno leaned close so he could hear. “I may have killed a man. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned...”  
  
The dying man's face blanched further. Time was short. “The Lord's Prayer. Twice.” Sereno squeezed the man's hand, feeling for his heartbeat in his palm, as they recited, Sereno aloud, the dying man rasping along, “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name...” Gustavo was looking on, wide-eyed, as the man stumbled over the last words. “Hail Mary. Once,” Sereno urged. “With me. Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee...” The man was mouthing the words, but Sereno could no longer hear him. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” Sereno waited until he heard a faint 'Amen' in echo, just as Hilario pushed a Communion wafer and a bottle of wine into his hand. Sereno put the Communion wafer on the man's tongue, muttering the habitual prayer, then held the open bottle of wine to his lips. “Drink.” One of the other men at the mat helped to lift Banderas just enough that Sereno could tip the bottle onto his tongue, and Sereno helped ease him back down. “You are forgiven, my son. Rest and receive your reward in Heaven.” Sereno released the man's hand, just as he closed his eyes. Sereno watched the dead man's chest deflate and took a slow breath as he rose to a stand.  
  
That was thirteen dead. Sereno would have called it a sign, if he still believed God bothered with such things.   
  
Sereno turned, gathering his wits. He may not have been attached to the man, but it was never easy to watch light leave someone's eyes. Especially when he was jostled from his focus by a pair of eyes brighter than life, their gaze boring into his.   
  
“Like them,” Gustavo whispered, then grabbed onto both of Sereno's arms. “ _Aiwa_ , like him.” Tears welled up under his eyes, and Sereno felt a jolt to his core at the sight. “What happened?”  
  
Sereno gathered his words and eased out of Gustavo's grip. “He was leaving this earth. I helped him get ready, so that when he arrives before God, he will throw the gates of Heaven wide.”  
  
“Paradise.” Gustavo grabbed on to him again, his grasp tighter than before. “He goes to paradise?  _Aiwa_  to paradise?”  
  
“If he confessed all of his sins and performed sacrament, then when he is called, that is where his soul will go. All those who were lost, I try to help them go to paradise--”  
  
At that, Gustavo yanked on his arms, shouting in his own tongue again. “ _AIWA!_ ” He yanked on Sereno's arm. “Please!  _Aiwa! Aiwa!_  You must come, must, please,  _aiwa!_ ”  
  
“What are you--?!” Sereno struggled as Gustavo yanked on him, turning to and fro desperately for someone to rescue him, until Gaspar worked himself to a stand and staggered over to join them. He crouched beside Gustavo and laid his big, rough hand on Gustavo's arm.  
  
“You want to go somewhere, eh?” He smiled through his exhaustion. “Where do you want to go?”  
  
“ _Aiwa._ ” Gustavo shot Gaspar a desperate look and gulped for air. “Home.”  
  
That meant something. Sereno caught Gustavo's hand. “Fine, take us. Lead on.”  
  
Xavier gave Sereno permission to take the gate key and posted guards, but warned Sereno to be back by sundown, and they left, moving west through the rainforest with the rising sun at their backs. Gaspar staggered roughly over the uneven ground, but his gait improved gradually as they went, especially with Hilario bracing him around the shoulders. Gustavo swung and bounded through the underbrush as easily as any other man might walk a paved road, hardly having to look where he was going. Sereno noticed him stop sometimes in the rough paths between trees and logs to lay a hand on a tree trunk, running his fingers over them. When Sereno looked closer, he could see etchings in the bark, man-made but so discreet that Sereno wouldn't have seen them unless he knew to look.   
  
Gustavo knew this forest the same as Sereno would have known the lay of Lisbon, he needed no map to know the way.  
  
Sereno knew not what to expect when Gustavo halted at a strange clearing of overturned, wet earth. He knelt down and scooped a handful up, then crushed it in his palms. "Fields," he muttered. "Like Hila's wheat, in the pictures. We cut and burn some of the trees away, so we can plant cassava and maize and always have enough to eat." He shook his head. "No cassava this year. No maize. No harvest. No..." He took a shuddering breath, then rose. "Little further," he said, with water in his throat. Sereno looked to Gaspar and Hilario, a few steps behind with Gaspar leaning on Hilario still and straining for air.  
  
"Can you make it?"  
  
Gaspar merely laughed. "We've come this far."  
  
"For Gustavo," Hilario added. "I want to understand. He has striven to understand us. It is only fair we do the same in return." He hung his head a little. "Though, I suppose he has tried to tell me as much all along."  
  
They followed on across the empty ground, Sereno basking in the longest stretch of blue sky he could remember seeing since his childhood, but soon, they entered the shade of the canopy again. There was a screech, the distinct howl of a monkey. Gustavo stopped stark still, silent for a moment, then lifted his hands to his mouth and howled back. Sereno could only listen as Gustavo chattered like a beast, in no tongue imaginable of man, until he stopped and waved the others on again.  
  
"They won't hurt you. They listen to me. My  _noreshi._  Part of me, all around us." He turned without another word of explanation and led on. None of them asked.  
  
After less than half an hour on foot, they reached a clearing in the shrub, still shaded under the canopy, but the sticks driven into the ground were unnatural, clearly placed by human hands. Gustavo moved past them, but Sereno noticed something and paused. He didn't say a word, but when Gaspar and Hilario got close, he pointed to a spray of pellets charring the wood, and gave them a significant, angry look.  
  
What is this? He wanted to ask, but he knew the answer. No, the real questions were  _who_  and  _why_ , and he thought he might have had the answer to the former. As Sereno, he remembered one thing Gustavo had said about his  _aiwa_ : the Portuguese.  
  
Gustavo had stopped a little ways ahead, at the edge of a path marked with fallen leaves, more long sticks driven in like a border around a clearing, but Gustavo could not have meant to lead them here. There was nothing in it but the charred husks of wooden huts, half-consumed and worn away with time, tools and weapons left abandoned. This had been a village, Sereno realized. These were the huts Gustavo had described, shaded and sheltered under the trees, the circle of rocks had been their shared fire; this had to have been Gustavo's home.  
  
Gustavo would not have wanted to take them here. He likely didn't want this place to exist in this way in the first place.  
  
Gustavo took three steps in towards the fire pit, then got down on his knees and cupped something in his hands – a charred skull. He whispered something, then wailed. Sereno took a few steps closer, only to see three bodies sprawled on the ground, and Gustavo beat the earth with one fist, shouting, " _AIWA! AIWA! AIWA!_ " His breath hitched, sobs pitched his whole frame, and he dropped the skull and whirled around to Sereno: "Family! Like family! No mother, no father, just  _aiwa_!"  
  
"Brothers," Hilario whispered, then aloud: "These are your brothers." Sereno dropped down beside Gustavo, hardly able to look at the corpses when Gustavo was still smearing at his eyes, and he mumbled words Sereno didn't know in his own tongue. Sereno desperately looked to Hilario again, and Hilario came a step closer to listen. Gustavo paused, wheezing, giving Hilario a moment to translate: "He said that  _naba_ caught him in the camp and said he... something about the meat.” He seemed to recognize it. “Theft. They thought he stole it, and they chased him. His brothers told him to run and hide and protected the village, but they..." Gustavo mumbled something, and Hilario winced. "Nobody who was here survived."  
  
"And  _aiwa_ ," Gustavo rasped, "they fought until they couldn't, but it wasn't enough. They went into the fire so the fire would take them first." He turned to Sereno, voice thick. "They were my family. I had no family. They took care of me so I would live, even though everyone else is...!" His breath hitched again. "You sent that man to the good place. Paradise." He thumped his fist next to his brothers' bones. "They shouldn't go to the bad place! My  _aiwa_  shouldn't go to hell!" He smeared at his eyes. "You took them away from me. Then you took me away from them. You took this land as if it was yours, and you can't share it, killing each other over it, killing us for it. We just wanted to live!" He turned from Sereno, teeth gritted. "They shouldn't go to hell because of you."  
  
“I didn't kill them,” Sereno growled back, then forced him to turn and face him. “We came here to live safely, and our people were just as afraid of you as you were of us.”  
  
“But we didn't kill you!”  
  
“The spears they left in the ground show that they tried!” Sereno realized his grip on Gustavo had tightened, but Gustavo wasn't backing down. If anything, he was more determined than before.  
  
“To protect me. Like you did.” Gustavo covered and gripped Sereno's hand, as Sereno raised his eyebrows. Was that what Gustavo thought of him? Gustavo held Sereno's gaze, brooking no answer, but said, “They don't deserve hell.”  
  
Sereno knew it would be cruel to tell him directly (they took no sacraments, they were unchristened, they never even had a chance to know God and be welcomed into His Kingdom), but he wouldn't lie to him. “Prayers are for the living, Gustavo.” He still took his Bible from his front pocket. “We can pray for them.” He opened to a page near the back, the verse he always read for funerals, and muttered the words in Latin:  _“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want...”_  
  
Hilario helped Gaspar move closer, and the two of them knelt on Gustavo's other side as Sereno read. Gustavo looked to Hilario, eyes still wet, and whispered, “I don't understand.”  
  
“We don't speak Latin, either. It is something for priests, used to speak to God. However, I know what he's saying.” Hilario rubbed Gustavo's back, as Sereno read on:  
  
 _“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me...”_  
  
“He says that God is watching over all of us.” Sereno felt Gustavo's hand slide into his and squeeze. “That though we all risk dying every day, because we are not alone, we don't have to be afraid.”  
  
“Not alone, not afraid,” Gustavo repeated. Sereno felt him grip his hand tighter, and found himself holding on just as tightly.  
  
“The Lord's prayer,” he said, loud enough for the others to hear. “With me: Our Father, who art in Heaven...”  
  
“Hallowed be Thy name,” Hilario joined, and though Gaspar remained silent, they both clasped their hands in prayer. Gustavo looked between all of them, and took his hand from Sereno's to fold them in front of him in imitation.   
  
“Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.” Sereno paused, thinking again, then looked to Gustavo. “Your  _aiwa_? They were innocent of God. They never had a chance to know His love. If they were as good to you as you say, then they are already with Him again."  
  
Gustavo hiccuped, but nodded. "I still hear their  _noreshi_ , sometimes. Their gods. Their other them, their protectors..."  
  
"Guardians?" Hilario was the one who posited it. "Like totems, in some of the other tribes. Animal spirits that watch over you."  
  
Gustavo digested the words a moment, then nodded. " _Noreshi,_  guardians. I hear them sometimes, but less, so I know they are gone. They... do not say they are in pain... But  _aiwa_  wouldn't want me to worry." He smiled bitterly. "I was a child to them."  
  
"You're a man," Sereno said, the words heavy. "We all must bury those who came before us, and when we do, we must learn to stand without him.” Then, he pinched Gustavo's cheek. “But if you could listen with those monkey ears of yours, you'd know I told you: you're not alone.” Gustavo grumbled and rubbed his cheek, but Sereno held his gaze and implored him: “You don't have to be afraid."  
  
With that, Sereno leaned forward and traced the cross over each of the corpses, silently hoping upon hope that Purgatory was kind to the ignorant, but as he finished, Gustavo threw his arms around his chest in embrace, the same desperate way he'd seized onto Sereno's leg the day he'd been hauled into camp.  
  
"Will I see them again?" His desperate gaze implored Sereno answer, and Sereno hesitantly looped his arm around Gustavo, but tried to keep his voice firm.  
  
"If ... and I say if ... you get to Heaven..." He paused, then muttered, "I don't know. I haven't been. But whether or not that comes to pass, you will have to wait a very long time. You're not there yet. You're here, now.” This registered, and Gustavo cracked a small smile. Hilario extended a hand to rub his back.  
  
“They can live on in your heart and mind, with their  _noreshi._  They would want you to be happy until you leave this earth."  
  
"'Less the French got anything to say about it," said Gaspar, and Hilario winced and lightly slapped his leg where he knelt, and Gaspar gesticulated furiously. "I'm not lying, am I?!"  
  
Sereno wriggled loose from Gustavo, drew his pistol and pointed it at Gaspar. "Mind your manners." Gustavo gasped, and Gaspar threw his hands up in surrender.  
  
"Jesus, you really are carrying a weapon!"  
  
"I'm going to stand and fight." Sereno put his gun up. "If they come for us, I will stand my ground and defend myself or die trying."  
  
Gustavo nodded, then grinned. He pushed his way to a stand off of Sereno's shoulder, then crossed the camp and picked up a spear that had been left stuck in the ground. “Me too.”  
  
The trek back to the fortress was made in near silence. Sereno could feel something ineffable coming off of Gustavo, something like his own heartbeat vibrating around him, thrumming like a war drum. Perhaps it had always been there, and Sereno was only now noticing how broad his shoulders looked with a spear slung across them, the dedication in every firm step. Gustavo hardly seemed the small, mindless savage he'd picked up off of the jungle floor. No, Sereno now only saw the proud, confident man he'd seen washing blood from his skin and hair in a waterfall, made human with intelligent speech, armed now with knowledge.  
  
When they arrived back, it was to an uproar, with every able man gathered around the yard shouting. Xavier was somewhere near the center of it all, trying to be heard over the others in the workmen's vernacular, but nobody was listening to him. It took a whistle from Sereno followed by him snarling, "ALL OF YOU, BE SILENT!" at the top of his lungs for the ruckus to pause. "What on Earth are you all squawking about?!"  
  
There was a tumult of voices as each man tried to be heard, but a man near Sereno seized his wrists. "We sent scouts out. They found the French camp, but they are preparing to attack, and soon!"  
  
Sereno narrowed his eyes. "And that has the lot of you crowing like a bunch of idiotic roosters seeing your own shadows? What, are you men and soldiers, or are you morons?!" He whipped around, demanding for all to hear: "Prepare the fort, curse you! Get your weapons! Ready yourselves! Shut the gate! God helps him who helps himself, so get the hell on it!" The men all reacted, some running to get weapons, some grimacing and moving to check the walls for cracks, the slaves going to get anyone who was still out in the fields, but Sereno turned to Gaspar and Hilario.  
  
"In my cell. Now."  
  
Sereno didn't stop moving, despite all the nagging hands tugging at the sleeves of his cassock and the questions echoing all around him, until he was shutting his cell door and turning to face Hilario and Gaspar, as Gustavo stared on. He turned his gaze between them for a moment, then sighed. "Gaspar de Sa, I am accrediting you for your final year of labor as promised to my aunt. With that, your servitude is concluded, though I do not have the resources to give you what it is you have been promised. However, my name and seal will take you from Sao Paolo back to Lisbon, and I will provide you with a letter for Duchesa de Barcelos explaining the situation." He then faced Hilario. " _Senhor_  de Criado, you are dismissed. I will provide severance in the form of all money and valuables I have on my person and, similarly, a letter of explanation to the Duchesa de Barcelos. The name Barcelos should be credit enough to ferry you back to Lisbon. I cannot control the fate of anyone in this camp, but you both deserve the freedom to make your own choices in life."  
  
"Freedom," Hilario repeated under his breath, and Gaspar, who had stood wide-eyed in shock, turned to him, as Hilario, face down and gaze low, laughed softly. " _Senhor_ , I am as free as I will ever be under your eye. There will be nothing for me in Lisbon but a hangman's noose." His smile unshifting, he added, dryly, "After all, surely you did not think it mere irony that a fellow selling himself as a servant would bear the name  _Criado_?" Sereno's nostrils flared; now he thought of it, it was the worst possible pseudonym a fugitive could have taken, and he tried not to look shocked. Hilario seemed to hear his answer nonetheless and added, still smiling, "The name Barcelos will get me anywhere, but where would I go? You hired me at my word and gave me purpose,  _Senhor_. I will stay of my own accord. I want to be here."  
  
"Aye," Gaspar muttered, bowing his head. "I appreciate you cutting your chains from me, but the thing is, I have nowhere else to be, and going back to Lisbon alone, I mean, you might as well bury me alive for all the company I'll ever have." He glanced to Hilario, then gave Sereno a roguish grin. "You may be an ass,  _Senhor_ , but you've done right by Guga and everyone else so far. However, granted my freedom, I'm going to hobble my ass to the armory and take up whatever weapons I can carry." He nudged Hilario's side with his elbow and a broad grin. "How about it, Hila? We stand our ground or die trying?"  
  
"Ah." Hilario's expression sparked with amusement. "Granted freedom to do as I please, just the same, I believe I shall. Pardon us, Padre." Hilario gave a sweeping bow, then left with Gaspar walking tall and only barely stumbling at his side. Then, Sereno turned to Gustavo, who was contemplating the tip of his spear.  
  
"I'll get ready, too." He strode past Sereno again, bowed sharply at the waist, and marched back towards the yard. Sereno watched him leave, then extracted his gun from his side pocket and contemplated it for a long moment.  
  
Perhaps he should have felt useless. He had been invited here to give prayers, and now he would only be able to pray for safety through the night.  
  
Sereno circled the fortress a few times, watching all of the men prepare. The walls were being fortified wherever they were at all weak, on the off chance the French had explosives and that the logs might hold up to an explosion at all. Other men wet the fence down in case the French attempted to burn it. Still others were practicing shooting targets roughly painted on the back fence (Gaspar and Hilario among them). Sereno found Gustavo again only near sundown, and it was with a curious creation of sticks and spare cloth, draped over a few emptied buckets and crates vaguely in the shape of a human form -- with black cloth where the head might go. Sereno frowned as he watched Gustavo stab and fight the human dummy, shouting in his language, unintelligible but unmistakably war cries. He watched for a few long minutes, until Gustavo noticed him and pointed.  
  
" _No owa_!" He said with a vicious grin, as if that explained it all. "That Hercule! Like  _no owa_ , so do I to him!" He stabbed the dummy through its head, knocking it clear off, then crushed the bucket underfoot. “Better savage, my ass.” He spat on the remnants of the bucket, then swaggered over to the well by the fortress wall and hauled the bucket up, as Sereno surveyed the wrecked dummy.  
  
“If you can do that to our invaders, then we may survive the night.”  
  
“Mm. I won't lose.” He took a drink from the bucket, then smeared his mouth dry and pivoted around to Sereno. “I am a savage. He says it, Xavier says it, others, too.” His expression darkened. “What is a savage?” When Sereno couldn't answer immediately, dumbstruck, Gustavo patted his chest with his palm. “They call me savage, but I don't understand.”   
  
Sereno wouldn't lie to him. “When we say savage, it's those who don't live like we do, walk and talk like we do, or live according to God's rules.”   
  
Gustavo scowled. “Why is that so bad? You come to our land and expect us to change the way we live? Why can I not live like I do, and you live like you?”  
  
“Your ways are wicked and wrong in the eyes of God.” Sereno pursed his lips. “You worship animals, and that makes you heathens.” Sereno knew this wasn't going to mollify him, but he deserved the truth. “You do not follow God's laws here, you are practically animals!”  
  
“And what is so wrong with animals?!” Gustavo suddenly swept his hand through the bucket, splashing water across Sereno's front. “We were fine! We were happy!”  
  
“Did you not speak of fighting with your neighbors, slaughtering one another in the night?” Sereno clenched his fists at his sides, but whatever he was about to argue next was drowned out by a volley of shots from over the fortress as the men continued to prepare for the French raid. Gustavo cocked an eyebrow, and for a moment, Sereno didn't need a translator.  
  
“I am not a savage.” Gustavo turned the bucket over onto his head, water draining down his back and bare chest. Sereno's mind unhelpfully reminded him of the day he first saw him in the waterfall, and he swallowed hard and lowered his face.   
  
“I have never said you were or thought of you as such.” He narrowed his eyes. "Only someone not yet civilized."  
  
“Hmph. Civilized.” Gustavo threw the empty bucket at Sereno's feet and turned his back on him. “Go away.”  
  
Sereno wanted to wheel him around and shake sense into him, except even he wasn't certain what to say. Yet, at the same time, those wild eyes that glinted golden in the dying sunlight were dark with purpose and consideration. Gustavo was thinking. Sereno needed to think, too.  
  
He circled back to the rear yard of the fortress again, past the path where the slaves were hurrying in from the fields, and ignored all voices calling to him. There was a voice in his heart, louder than ever, and he intended to listen.  
  
He focused on the target painted on the wall, loaded his pistol, aimed, and fired. His pellet hit the wall a hand's breadth from the target center, by his estimate; either stunningly good beginner's luck, or perhaps preternatural talent. He narrowed his eyes. Not good enough. He loaded, aimed, and fired again.  
  
The shot struck closer this time.  
  
The distance between the barrel of the gun and the wall was approximately twenty paces. The distance between the end of the gun and the underside of his chin, if he chose the coward's way out, was as little as a hair's breadth. He didn't want to take the easy shot. He wanted to live. If that was going to happen, he would need to know he could take the harder shot if he had to.  
  
He had more he wanted to tell Gustavo. He had to live to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yanomami terms:
> 
> aiwa - older brother  
> noreshi – animal spirits  
> no owa – an effigy of the enemy


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night comes and brings danger and treachery with it. Will our heroes come together and survive?

**6:**

The night fell, moonless, the canopy of the thick trees overhead black and only barely pierced by distant starshine. Sereno could not sleep, instead trying to see through the dark over the walls for signs of the French militia's approach. Gustavo sat on his bedroll, knees folded to his chest, not sleeping, but not speaking either. Sereno once would have blessed the silence, but now, when Gustavo still wore that same contemplative look as before, Sereno wished he would say whatever was rattling around in his empty monkey head.  
  
"No sign yet. Not a single torch in the dark." He turned to Gustavo. "Sleep if you want. I'm not going to fall asleep, but you should be rested."  
  
"Mm." Gustavo shook his head, then turned away from Sereno. "Why?"  
  
A dangerous question. Sereno paced to stand over Gustavo. "Why, what?"  
  
"You saved me, that day. Not at the river --" Sereno's heart lurched into his throat -- "But when I followed you here, they caught me. You saved me. Why?"  
  
"You followed me," Sereno repeated tonelessly, and Gustavo nodded sharply.  
  
"You were golden and glowed like the sun, but I struck at you because I didn't see it was you yet, and I didn't know what else to do. I felt bad for trying to hurt you. I was going to ... " He jawed, muttered something in his dialect, then said, "Ask forgiveness. Make an offering. But then, they were going to hurt me, and you saved me. Why?"  
  
Sereno frowned. "You asked for help." Gustavo shook his head.  
  
"No. I was surprised to see you... all of you..." Gustavo brought his arms up closer to his face. "I don't remember what I said."  
  
"Hilario said it was 'help me.'"  
  
Gustavo shook his head again. "I think what I said was that you were shining. I was scared, you know? I don't remember it so well. I just said the first thing in my head."  
  
The thought that Hilario had lied to him in a play to convince him to pity the boy was chased away before Sereno could digest it by the realization that he would have helped Gustavo anyway. Gustavo, however, lifted his face just enough to look Sereno in the eye. "So, was that all it was?"  
  
Sereno's jaw was open, but words -- thought -- would not come. Before he could make his mouth move, there was a cry from below, and Sereno spun to the window to see torches approaching from the distance. A mutter of "They're here," escaped him before he gathered his gun into his pocket and ran for the doors, Gustavo bounding at his heels.  
  
Were they burning the walls? Sereno didn't smell fire, and though his mind raced, his senses were sharp. He had heard no explosion, either; were they just going to ram the gate open?  
  
As Sereno reached the front door, he realized they wouldn't have to. Captain Xavier kicked the gate lock into place, leaving the gate open as wide as it went, as the workmen stared on in horror.  
  
" _Capitao_ ," One of them choked. "Why?"  
  
"Ah, so now it's  _Capitao_." Xavier laughed and crossed his arms, and took a few steps back to where the French regiment gathered, stayed only by Modeste Simonet's hand. "I've finally got a plan for civilizing this wild place. It just happens to be theirs." Xavier gave a mocking bow, then stepped behind the line. Simonet lowered his hand, and with a roar, the French soldiers drew guns and blades and washed over the camp like the river flooding the basin.  
  
Before Sereno could begin to lift his pistol, two big hands seized his arm from behind. "Damn it, Padre!" Gaspar yanked him around. "You're as good as any leader we got now, you're not dying in this scrap!"  
  
Hilario stepped past him, a rifle already in hand. "You're their hope, you must realize. If you go, so does hope." He glanced to Gustavo. "Hide him as deep in as you can. We'll keep the fight as far from him as possible."   
  
Sereno searched fruitlessly for a rebuttal, then gritted his teeth when Gustavo yanked his arm. “Fine.” He let Gustavo drag him back in, and on the steps, with the enemy fighting their way through, Hilario and Gaspar shared a quick smile.  
  
“So, you chose this over a noose. How did you earn that?”   
  
“Ah, my merchant father had hoped to marry my dear sister into gentry to raise our family's position, but he chose an utter boor of a prince.” Hilario smiled, but it was shallow. “I tried to convince my father of his cruelty, but it didn't matter. I took matters into my own hands. My dear sister cannot marry a corpse.” Hilario cocked his rifle. “I abandoned my old name and life and fled, somewhere I was unknown. I've nowhere to go back to, so I may as well die here.”  
  
“Aye?” Gaspar's smirk was watery, but real enough, and his hand was steady on the machete he held at his side. “If you die here, then I've nothing to stay for. Do me a favor and live.”  
  
“Only if you agree to do the same.” They faced forward, weapons ready, just as Simonet landed at the bottom of the steps with a line of soldiers at his heels.  
  
Gustavo jumped when a volley of shots echoed from the doors, but Sereno tried to close his eyes to it and move forward, teeth gritted, still thinking. He still had the sense of mind to tug Gustavo's arm and urge him on, “Keep moving. As far from the doors as we can.” The best place Sereno could think of was the armory, enclosed behind the galley and obscure in the lower levels. He led Gustavo right to it, shut the door tight and lit the lanterns, then threw himself against the wall, his legs going soft under him. Gustavo stood by the door, folding his arms.   
  
“I don't hear them here.”   
  
“Be quiet.” Sereno was still listening to the distant sound of the ruckus, his heart racing and his blood hot in his veins. Gustavo snorted.  
  
“You should not be so angry. Is this not what your people did to mine?” He hung his head, and Sereno glowered at him.  
  
“Are you still hung up on that?” Gustavo shook his head, but Sereno, grinding his teeth like gristle was stuck between them, swept a step forward. “They would be crueler, you know. If they'd found you, you'd be dead.”  
  
Gustavo made a face. “I'd be dead if you had not helped me.”   
  
“As likely as not. That or a slave.”  
  
“That is as good as death!” Gustavo stomped his feet. “I want to know why. Why you saved me, why you  _civilized_  me, I want to know why you helped me!”  
  
“I wanted to!” Sereno snarled, baring his teeth. “I wanted to, by Mother Mary, Christ, and the Holy Spirit! I saw you and wanted to know you, and the only way I could know you was--”  
  
“By changing me!” Gustavo bared his teeth. “Was it not good enough to see me as I was?!”  
  
Sereno's heart ached, but he snapped right back. “Did you prefer your life in the darkness of the wilds?!”  
  
“If you had never come, then I would never have known there was such light!” Gustavo dug his hands into his hair, no longer angry, but instead stricken. “Never known of streets or churches or God, or wheat fields and great ships and wedding dresses, never known Hila and Gaspar and you!” He choked, tugging at his hair. “And you... you are so, so bright... So proud... so strong... I want to be as bright, too...”  
  
Sereno felt Gustavo's hand tug his heartstrings, and stepped forward as if compelled. “You are. You are as brilliant as anything else I've seen here.” He stepped forward and carded his fingers into Gustavo's hair, forcing him to stop tugging his scalp. “Guga, go. Go back.” Gustavo lifted his face, eyes wide and bright even in the dim light from the lone torch, but Sereno ignored the ache that came with looking into that face. “Run away from here before it's too late. If you were happy, then go be happy. You should not have to die over a battle for land that was yours in the first place.”   
  
“Godo?” Gustavo's jaw hung loose, but before he could answer, the door swung wide.   
  
“Ah, here you are.” The shadow of Hercule Omer loomed in the door, his eyes still bearing the glint of the wild man and his sword as sharp as that of any soldier. He kicked the armory door wide, and set his legs into a fighting stance. “The untamed priest with a head ready for a pike hiding with the little savage.”   
  
Sereno sneered. “I only see one savage here, and it's the one brandishing a blade at a priest.” He twisted to reach his gun in his pocket, but Gustavo shifted to stand in front of him.   
  
“I am not the savage.” He bared his teeth and raised his spear to cross his chest. “I am wild and free, but I am no savage!” He glanced to Sereno for a moment, his face softening, and that heavy, significant look that passed between them said everything neither of their native tongues ever could.   
  
 _You will not change me, but still I am here._  
  
Then, Gustavo whipped back around and launched himself at Hercule like a bird of prey, and Sereno could only stare on in wonder as Gustavo transformed into the purest essence of himself – the wild hunter, the beast of the Brazilwood forest. He leaped over Hercule, spinning his spear, but Hercule pivoted around like a tin soldier spun on a child's finger and blocked his swing, then thrust. Gustavo fluidly parried his every swing and swipe, eyes dilated to pinpricks in the torchlight and shining like a demon's, his every motion economical, precise, and swift. His feet were light, his steps sure, and it was obvious Hercule was doing everything he could to just keep up. However, he was admiring Gustavo with a smirk.  
  
“You move well, for a monster.”  
  
Gustavo didn't speak, too intently focused on Hercule's shift as he feinted back and swung from the side. Gustavo had read him as plainly as if it were etched onto his skin, as stark as war paint. Sereno's heart raced as Hercule managed to advance on Gustavo, sending him slipping back in what nearly looked like intentional retreat, his feet hardly leaving the ground even as Hercule chased him, his saber forward, coat swishing with each graceful step. Sereno's own words haunted him for a second – even without ornate uniform or military training, Gustavo, fighting, had the poise of an old master. When Hercule swung, he blocked, blade striking stone and chipping. Gustavo flinched for a second as the shard scratched his cheek and blood ran down his face, but he licked the little stream off where it crossed his lip and fought on.   
  
That flick of the tongue made Sereno's chest twist as if bound with string, his Bible too heavy in his Napoleon pocket for his heart to beat through it. Sereno edged back towards the edge of the room, knowing he couldn't interfere. There was an unspoken challenge between them, something in their eyes. When Hercule's face caught the light as Gustavo parried him back again, his grin was wild.  
  
Gustavo was unrecognizable. Vicious, savage, perfect in it, and beautiful for it. Precisely the way God – or nature – had made him. All was God's creation, and Gustavo was still purely that.  
  
Perhaps that was why Hercule's footing slipped in the gas that leaked from the torch. Perhaps God had willed it, or perhaps Gustavo had learned just enough of civilization to use it to his advantage.   
  
In a second, Hercule was on his back, the air knocked out of him, and Gustavo had his spear at his throat. Hercule stared at Gustavo, wide-eyed, clearly calculating the reality that he'd been bested, but then he smiled. “I've wondered... Is this what it is to be a real savage?”  
  
Gustavo's answer was his spear driven through Hercule's windpipe. The blood splattered up and over Gustavo's chest and face, and Sereno, backed against the wall, could only bear silent witness as Gustavo, gaze affixed to Hercule's corpse, cut his throat wide so he would bleed out faster. Then, he turned his focus to Sereno, his gaze unmoving, and he stepped over Hercule's corpse.  
  
“He is free now.” Gustavo voice was gravelly and scratchy. “He wanted to be free, too. Could you see it?” He crouched over Sereno. “You could feel it, right?”  
  
Sereno stared at him, for once trying to translate his own language back. “Freedom, is it?”  
  
“Not belonging to anyone or anything. Free.”  
  
Sereno sighed his resignation. “I suppose this is your way of saying you are not beholden to me. Here's a surprise: you've never belonged to me like that.”  
  
“No.” Gustavo shook his head. “I know. You want me here. You said.”   
  
Sereno licked his lips as Gustavo leaned closer. “And why do you stay?”  
  
Gustavo tilted his chin a little, then smiled earnestly, and Sereno remembered the very real young man that he'd found under the beast. He laid a hand over Sereno's heart, over his Bible. “You, Padre. You're like this to me.” He patted the Bible and Sereno's heart, and Sereno understood.  
  
Precious. Sacred. Meant to be held close.  
  
The world had gotten quiet, the sounds of fighting soft and distant. Sereno had to assess the damage and show that he still lived. Gustavo limped just a little as they crossed back through the quiet fortress, not injured but plainly exhausted, and Sereno let Gustavo loll against him. No point in arguing it, really.   
  
The front courtyard was littered with bodies, some wearing the rough work clothes of the Portuguese workers, but many more wearing the French uniform. When Sereno entered the yard, every man still alive stood attention and clamored for Padre Sereno:  
  
“Padre! They turned back! We turned them back!”  
  
“We were victorious!”  
  
“What happened to that awful commander? He got away from us!”  
  
Gustavo volunteered, “Dealt with.” All eyes turned to him, and Gustavo first raised his spear in a grand gesture like he was preparing to re-enact it, but his arm wobbled and he had to drop it. “Ahh, I tell you later, yes?”  
  
There were still two sitting back to back near the center of the yard, surrounded by a large pile of bodies. Sereno turned his eyes around the gathered men, then sighed. “Carry the wounded to the sanctuary; we will do all we can for them.” He descended the stairs to find, sure enough, Hilario and Gaspar in a pile of corpses, drenched in blood but whole and breathing, and the others still gave them wide berth. One man tried to halt Sereno.  
  
“They are vicious. Be wary.”  
  
“Hmph. Of course, now that they're unbound, they cut loose.” Sereno shrugged it off and approached them without another thought, crossing his arms as he stood over them. “I see the two of you are still doing my dirty work.”  
  
Gaspar heaved out an exhausted laugh, and Hilario managed a weary smile. “Ah, Padre, after so long, it seems that is all I know.”   
  
“Very well, then.” Sereno scanned the corpses with a flick of his gaze. “The commodore was dealt with, but I want to know where that General went.”   
  
Gaspar snorted. “Oh, I know his type. He likely expected things to go a certain way and stood back to watch. He'll step in if he feels like he--”  
  
There was a rattle at the gate, and General DuGannes, black hair disheveled and uniform askew, scampered in, howling about something in French. A monkey screamed from somewhere in the forest, and Gustavo grinned at Sereno's side. Sereno didn't smile back, instead steeling himself as DuGannes whirled on him, apoplectic.  
  
"You," he hissed, then snarled something in French, gesticulating madly, followed by a rough, spiteful, "We could have been victorious together!"  
  
"And yet, you stand alone now." Sereno chose his words carefully. "Your army has been routed, defeated by the heretics and savages you so derided." DuGannes, out of breath, screamed his frustration with the volume and pitch of a creature bigger and more monstrous than he appeared, but Sereno merely sneered. "Tell me, what is it you truly wanted?"  
  
"If nothing else, you!" DuGannes flung his arms out. "A holy man to guide us! Without God's light, in these dark lands, we are but one misstep from being monsters ourselves!"  
  
"And so you made yourself a monster in an effort to avoid becoming one." Sereno slid his hand into his side pocket and approached DuGannes slowly. "If it was me you wanted, why did you not merely ask?"  
  
DuGannes' eyes widened, making him look eerily childlike for a moment. "Would you have come with me, if I had?"  
  
"No." DuGannes drooped like his strings had been cut at Sereno's clipped, blunt answer, but Sereno crossed his arms. "It is not God's light you needed. You were searching for something bright but failed to find it. I would have done you no good." He stopped, ten paces away from DuGannes. "Return to France, where you will be safe, admit your failure, and leave us be."  
  
DuGannes, still heaving for breath, shook his head. "No, Padre, no. You cannot make me. I will not fail fighting against mere savages! You cannot make me!" He lunged for Sereno, but Sereno drew, aimed, and fired before DuGannes could land a single step closer. The shot passed through DuGannes' head, creating a void within a void, and he dropped to a heap, dead before he hit the ground. Sereno exhaled, not even realized he'd been holding his breath, then approached DuGannes and nudged him with his toe. Then, he crouched over him, crossed DuGannes' chest, crossed himself, and muttered:  
  
"You and I, we're as savage as anything else here." He rose to a stand, inhaling again and releasing as if he'd forgotten to breathe for a second, until Gustavo tugged his arm.  
  
"So, if you're a savage too, no more colony, yes? Just neighbor?" He grinned, but Sereno mussed his hair.  
  
"If it were up to me, maybe. It may not be." He glanced to the sky for a moment, then back at the men who had watched the display in horror and disbelief. Gaspar and Hilario each had the courtesy to not look so damned surprised, at least, so Sereno smeared the mess from his hands and marched a step towards them.  
  
"I'm going to wash the blood from my clothes." He displayed the spatter on his black frock with a disdainful grimace, then gestured mildly over the field with a flap of his hand. "Sort the living from the dead. I'll be back and bless them all when I'm not foul."  
  
He could keenly feel the blood on his clothes, in his hair, pounding in his ears. So much had passed over him. He needed to clear his body and mind, somehow or other.  
  
As Gaspar began to complain to Hilario about still being treated like dirty rags and Hilario laughed back about Sereno at least doing his own laundering, Sereno took Gustavo by the hand and led him into the forest. He couldn't say it was God's will drawing him deeper into this land anymore, only his own will guiding the way, and though he would never know this land like Gustavo did, he could learn the important things the same way Gustavo had.


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gustavo and Sereno have a meeting of the minds in the place where they first came together.

**7:**

The sound of the falls drew Sereno in, and he halted at the water's edge. The basin had risen with the wet season, but the rock Sereno had hidden behind the first time was still dry enough. Sereno draped his robe over the rock and into the running water. Even under the moon, Sereno could see the blood running off of his robe and downstream.  
  
“Blood is life,” he muttered, trying to remember what Padre Henrique had told him when he was small and wept at his own injuries. “Bleeding proves we lived.” It was not his blood, but a reminder that he'd taken a life, and he was alive because of it. Gustavo, too, put his clothes in the river, weighing them down with rocks as the arterial spray off of Hercule washed off. Then, Gustavo caught Sereno by the hand and led him towards the falling water.   
  
“You are alive, too, yes?” Gustavo grinned and walked backwards into the falls, where the water only came up to his knees. “This is a good way to feel alive! It feels good!”  
  
How could Gustavo be so cheerful? “I suppose this was just another successful hunt for you, then?”  
  
“Mm.” Gustavo shrugged, then shivered. “Yanomami defend ourselves in the night from our neighbors sometimes. It is how we survive.” Gustavo reached up and ran his wet fingers into Sereno's hair. “It is most important that you live, no matter how, yes?”  
  
Sereno felt blood run from his hair down his face, and grimaced. “It is a sin to kill.”  
  
“You did it so that you could live.”  
  
“Yes,” Sereno agreed, and Gustavo pulled his hand.  
  
“Living is not a sin. Come in with me. It will feel so nice, Padre, please.”  
  
Sereno couldn't even say he didn't want to. He wanted to get the blood from his hair. He wanted to think in peace. He wasn't certain of what would come next. If he was the de facto leader now, how he would he lead? What if they were attacked again? He didn't know, and he didn't know if there was an answer for certain. For someone who considered himself relatively enlightened, there was much he didn't, couldn't know. God may rule Heaven, but man ruled Earth, and until he did reach Heaven's kingdom, he was under the laws of kings, of man, and perhaps even of himself, and how would he know he was making the right choices for those who would now look to him? He couldn't know if he was making the right choices. He could, however, choose to step into the running water, closer to Gustavo, and let the cold water run down him, over him.   
  
The water's fall was surprisingly gentle, and though it was cold, it was still pleasant as it drained down his hair, chest, and back. He remembered Gustavo's peaceful smile the first time he saw him bathing in these waters. He could feel himself smiling too, maybe just the same, innocent way.  
  
“It's better, isn't it?” Sereno felt Gustavo's fingers on his face, and flinched without meaning to. Gustavo inhaled softly, and turned his touch to a light caress. “Godofredo?”  
  
Sereno wasn't sure when someone had last called him by name. His aunt, the Duchesa, but he'd hardly been thirteen years of age last they spoke face to face. Padre Henrique, most likely, and that was years ago now. He dared open an eye through the spray to see Gustavo reverently cupping his chin, smiling at Sereno as if he were the moon, the pure reflection of sunlight just bright enough to enjoy without burning. Then, Gustavo drew Sereno towards him and got up on tiptoe to meet him in the middle for a soft, chaste kiss across the mouth.  
  
“What are you doing?” He tensed his shoulders, but Gustavo rested a hand on his arm to still him, then kissed his cheek.  
  
“Hila said that when you think something is very beautiful, it should be kissed.” Gustavo beamed, and Sereno could curse Hilario for teaching Gustavo about Portuguese courtship, but he couldn't turn away.   
  
“That is for women, you should know.”  
  
Gustavo shrugged. “I do not know women anymore. But there's you.” He kissed Sereno again, and though Sereno's heart ached, he tried to step back, towards the rocks behind the falls, towards the darkness. The chilly water barely reached his knees here, the river floor pushed up by the rocks displaced by the falls, but the chills ran all the way up Sereno's spine as Gustavo tried to kiss him again.  
  
“Guga, I cannot. Don't touch me. Priests are meant to be celibate--”  
  
Gustavo had followed him, confidently moving through the water where Sereno had stumbled. “I don't know what that means, and don't care.” He grinned, and Sereno had to force himself not to shiver. “Your rules are silly. I do fine without them. You freed Hila and Gaspar, and me too. Free yourself.”  
  
Sereno realized what was happening. He'd been letting himself change with Gustavo, setting his servants loose, empathizing with them, even doubting that this land needed civilization. Giving up on these last principles would be the same as lowering himself.  
  
Or admitting that he was already that low, that he always had been, and pretending he was any more than he was would be idiocy.  
  
Sereno leaned in and let Gustavo kiss his face and forehead, then his mouth. He unclenched his jaw and loosened his lips to let Gustavo trace the contour of his teeth with his tongue, then to explore. Gustavo seemed to know what he was doing, teasing the roof of Sereno's mouth and the tip of his tongue, and the heat and fire that bloomed through Sereno's chest dizzied him so much he barely felt Gustavo's rough palms dragging their way up his arms, then down his chest. He did notice when Gustavo's thumbs flicked his nipples, and cried out as stars burst behind his eyes. Gustavo chuckled, low and husky, and pulled his mouth off of Sereno's.  
  
“First time. It feels too good, yes?”  
  
Sereno, panting, could only rasp back, “You mean this  _isn't_  your first time?”  
  
Gustavo flicked Sereno's nipples again, and Sereno gasped and arched his back into the sensation. “We celebrate after hunts. Feels very, very good.” He grinned broadly through the dark. “I'm going to make you feel very, very good.” He kept one hand braced on Sereno's chest, teasing at the rosy little bud as it plumped and stiffened under his thumb, kissing at the soft hollow at the base of his neck but slid his palm around to Sereno's back. "You can tell me to stop, if it's too much."  
  
"Don't you dare." Sereno hated how flustered he sounded, how short his breath came and how hot every inhalation felt. He couldn't help but to lean back into Gustavo's hand at his fervent touches and attention. Gustavo chuckled again but held him in place, grounded.  
  
"Ah, now you don't want to stop? I thought priests..."  
  
"I've never thought I was a very good – ahh!" Sereno inhaled sharply as Gustavo's hand ran down his spine to cup his upper thigh. Before he could even cope with the shock of Gustavo touching him so intimately, with such familiarity, Gustavo's fingernails were scratching along the gentle curve of his ass towards his pucker, and Sereno shivered and tried to shrink away. "Impertinent little..."  
  
"It's okay, it's okay." Gustavo's face and eyes were so bright, so excited, but his smile was so calm and his touch so sure. He guided Sereno a little closer to the falling water and the moonlight. "I won't do anything you don't like. I just want to make you feel good. Is that okay?"  
  
He stopped teasing Sereno's nipple and slid his hand to rest over Sereno's heart, and what little language barrier still divided them evaporated. Sereno could hear him saying it with that touch:  _You are precious. You are sacred to me. I want to hold you close._  
  
"So demanding," Sereno muttered, but bowed his head to kiss Gustavo's hair. "Fine. I won't stop you."  
  
Gustavo smiled, and slid his hand down Sereno's chest, swirling his fingers through the pale, soft trail of hair under his navel and down to his cock. Sereno held perfectly still as Gustavo ran his fingers along his length, and realized he was as hard as he'd ever been in his life. Gustavo hummed satisfaction as Sereno bucked into his hand.   
  
“You glow, you shine,” Gustavo whispered, reverence in his gaze like a devotee gazing upon the Se for the first time, and he ran his free hand up and down the contours of Sereno's back, tracing his spine and the thin lines of his narrow muscles. “You are so lovely when you smile.”  
  
Sereno could feel he was not smiling, but panting and thrusting helplessly into the warm circle of Gustavo's hand. He'd hardly dared to ever touch himself, more frightened by his midnight dreams of warm mouths on his neck and touches on his body than enticed because the other priests in the order warned him that such things were a mortal sin, one he would have been ashamed to confess. Gustavo's soft touches, stroking down his shoulder blades and up to his neck, awoke the feelings he'd tried to forget he had. Gustavo stroked down the line of his jaw and guided his mouth towards him again, and Sereno leaned in so Gustavo could kiss him again, sucking on his mouth and tasting his tongue as if he were sweet. Gustavo's mouth tasted ... not good, in the sense of a well-made meal, but there was good in it, like the sting of a hot pepper seed as it burned down his throat. The warmth, the sensation, they were overwhelming and yet Sereno now regretted living so long pretending he didn't want them. When Gustavo released him from his kiss this time, still caressing his face with adoration, Sereno knew he wasn't smiling, but he knew that he couldn't hide how he was feeling and Gustavo was bright with delight for it.  
  
“Come, come,” Gustavo whispered, and eased Sereno backwards. “I don't want you to fall into the water, Godo.”   
  
Sereno's belly coiled against the heat blooming through him, and he only put up a token resistance as Gustavo guided him into the dark and leaned his back on the water-smoothed rocks. He could see through the dark now, Gustavo sure and steady as he took a knee before him, running his fingers through the pale hair under Sereno's navel and swirling them through the coarse curls to his length, marble-hard and throbbing with need. He watched, rapt, as Gustavo flicked his tongue out and lapped at the head. Sereno's prick twitched, bobbing up with the excitement of a rabbit in its first spring, and he whimpered as the pleasure became nearly painful for a moment. Gustavo carefully traced the head and slit with his tongue, one hand drawing comforting and distracting little circles on his hip and thigh. Gustavo then ran the flat of his tongue down the vein of his cock, and Sereno groaned, leaning his head back and screwing his eyes shut tight.  
  
“Look at me, Godo.” Gustavo curled his hand around Sereno's prick and pulled a few times, a little hard, maybe just hard enough. “Look at me. I want you to watch how happy I am to make you happy.” Sereno made a noise that he would never admit was a soft whimper, but forced himself to watch as Gustavo stroked his cock, then kissed it. “So beautiful. You need many, many kisses.” Gustavo fervently covered the head of Sereno's prick with soft kisses that sent white sparks blazing in Sereno's vision, then, all at once pulled his mouth towards his prick and swallowed it. Sereno felt the head of his prick hit the back of Gustavo's throat, his lips stretched around his girth. Gustavo moaned and swallowed hard, and Sereno felt his voice reach up through his gut and heart like a roll of thunder.   
  
He thought he would fall to pieces right there, but Gustavo wrapped his hand into a ring around the base of his cock and squeezed. He kept his other hand firmly braced on Sereno's thigh, then sucked deep and hard a few times, pulling his head back to suck it all over. Sereno, entranced at Gustavo's demand to watch, could feel his passions swirl and build like a tornado in his breast at Gustavo's enthusiasm, the smack of his lips against his curly hairs, and his joyful noises at every taste. He surrendered to his instincts and thrust into the warm sheath of Gustavo's mouth a few times, the water splashing around his knees, eliciting an eager moan from Gustavo. He released the base of Sereno's dick and braced both hands on his hips, then sucked Sereno down a few times hard, licking sloppily through the slit and sucking deep, and Sereno came like the break of a storm cloud. He cried out aloud, shooting heat and fire from his very core and into Gustavo's waiting mouth. Gustavo kept his prick in all the way, down his throat, but he gasped with surprise and choked, forcing Sereno to pull out, coughing and sputtering as the last of Sereno's release shot onto his face and jaw. Spend dripped down his cheeks, and he spat into the water a few times, then lifted his chin to Sereno's eyes and beamed. Sereno's knees were already weak, and he collapsed at that smile and started to wash Gustavo's face with his hand.   
  
“Tell me I didn't nearly kill you with that.” He smeared the white stripes of his release from Gustavo's cheeks, as Gustavo caught his breath through his excitement.  
  
“No. No. So good. Felt so good. Tastes so good.” Then, Gustavo worked a hand from under him and around his still-hard prick, and now that Sereno had realized he was still in need, he found himself drawn to help. Gustavo stroked himself, his hand dark through the water against the ruddy, blazing pink of his prick. “Can I teach you?” He groaned softly as he pulled again. “I want to show you how to enjoy me. I want to stay for a long time. Want to stay with you, Godo...” He groaned Sereno's name, and Sereno wrapped one of his hands around Gustavo's cock and helped him through the next pull.   
  
“You want to stay? Like this?” Sereno gave him another stroke, knowing it was clumsy from the soft grunt Gustavo answered it with, but Gustavo helped adjust his grip and guide him through the next few strokes. Sereno was going soft, but his cock ached with jealousy as the both of them worked on Gustavo's thick erection. “We'd be lovers,” Sereno whispered, guilt warring with his need for a split second. “You can say we're lovers, but nobody else can know.”  
  
“Love?” Gustavo's eyes, still golden and wild, glimmered at the notion. “If that is your secret, sacred and precious...” He thrust forward, hips jutting towards Sereno and the cool water splashing around their waists. Sereno sank forward and stroked him faster, harder. “Godo, Godo, yes! Say... I want you to have...” He whispered something into Sereno's ear.   
  
His name. It had to be.  
  
Gustavo kissed and bit at Sereno's shoulder, and Sereno gasped his name back. Gustavo cried out and came in a warm white cloud, then slumped against Sereno's shoulder, panting. It felt at once holy and profane in the same moment, heresy in the midst of paradise, and Sereno released him and wrapped an arm around him, knowing the two shared something precious now.  
  
“Only here,” Gustavo whispered. “Only us.” Sereno understood without asking.  
  
“We can both have our barriers we won't cross,” he rasped as his senses came back to him.  
  
Sereno felt no need to make Gustavo more like him. They were enough alike otherwise. Both wild, and free now.  
  
Sereno stood first, and Gustavo joined him without asking if he should, following him towards the shore, towards the place they both called home now.  
  
“I'm not sure I want to civilize this colony the way we were doing it. I want to ask you more about how your village was run.” Sereno slung his robe and breeches over his shoulder, not caring to put on wet things. Gustavo grinned with excitement.  
  
“It worked for us, yes?”  
  
“Aye.” Sereno sniffed a bit. “But there are things we will need to do to make it better for us, too. Our home can be some of both.” He let Gustavo linger at his side as he emerged from the water. “After this long, I'm not sure how Portuguese we are anymore.”  
  
Gustavo chuckled, and added, “ _Yanomami thepe._ ” He gestured broadly. “We all are, living here.”  
  
“Is that your word for people?” Sereno scratched his head. “Human beings. We're all human beings.” He raised an eyebrow and glanced sideways at Gustavo. “Even  _naba_?”  
  
“I think so. At least a little.” Gustavo grinned and slid his arm around Sereno's shoulders.  
  
Sereno would have pushed him off, but that would have been too much effort for something he didn't actually want to do. “ _Yanomami thepe._  We're all human beings. That is enough for both of us.”  
  
They walked back under the screeches of distant birds and the howls of monkeys, and Sereno knew he was being watched over as he moved forward.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How has Padre Sereno "civilized" the untamed and untameable wilderness?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last Brazilian term:
> 
> Joaozinho – A diminutive of Joao, akin to a man named John being called “Johnny.”

**Epilogue:**

The dry season had returned. The sun was oppressive with no trees to block the light, but the trees had been cleared so the road could be paved. Gaspar, on his hands and knees, reminded himself of this over and over as he laid down pavers and smoothed them into place.  
  
"If there were trees and shade, there would be no road, and if there were no road, I would not have a job." He grinned to himself. "And when there is a road..."  
  
"Then we can ship our tobacco easier, and perhaps you will smoke less of it." Gaspar turned at the ring of a familiar voice to see Hilario approaching with a satchel in hand and grinned eagerly. Hilario had become lean from the Spartan conditions and tan with the sun, but his smile was the same as ever. "I had just finished feeding the hens when I discovered you forgot your lunch today."  
  
"Ah, Hila!" Gaspar rose to greet him, arms outstretched. The other men working on the road ignored them, as Hilario handed Gaspar his satchel and Gaspar breached right past his outstretched arm for a sweat-soaked embrace. "Hila, you godsend you, were you a woman I'd marry you!"  
  
Hilario laughed, an airy, "Ahaha!" then shook his head, saying, "No, no, I must refuse! I'd look dreadful in a dress."  
  
"So you would." Gaspar grinned and snaked a hand up to Hilario's shoulder, adding under his breath, "I'd have to get it off of you quickly."  
  
Hilario swatted Gaspar's hand off, smiling in a way that Gaspar had long since ceased to sense the impending danger in. "You are, as ever, less than a gentleman." He laughed through his nose, eyes crinkling with real mirth. "Consider yourself fortunate I like you that way. It's noontide. Come and eat with me in the shade." Hilario jumped off of the newly paved patch of road to where trees still grew thick and dense, and spread out a blanket in the shade and the contents of another small sack: a skin of wine brewed from the wild berries of the forest, rice packed in banana skins to keep it warm, some of the sour little oranges that grew wild, and a slice of dense cake. Gaspar licked his lips and hurried to join him, emptying the ham and cheese from his own satchel beside it and tucking in.  
  
"Imagine," he said between eager bites, "how we would have felt the day we arrived to see the two of us today, eating ham from pigs we raised and cheese from goats we milked!"  
  
"And wine we made, too." Hilario poured some of the wine into his mouth. "No, I hardly imagined a time when I would have my own homestead – even one I share, albeit happily – and when I'd be watching my own green things take root and grow. The man who arrived at Forte Paz two years ago would be dangerously jealous of the man who sits before you today."  
  
"Aye, as would I." Gaspar chewed slowly on his next bite, glancing up into the trees and towards the sky before swallowing and speaking again. "I'd only now be earning my manhood back."  
  
Hilario hummed. "I'm not certain you ever lost it. You merely ... ah, but it's complicated. I am just glad you came when you did."  
  
"Thank the Padre." Gaspar shrugged, and motioned to the road behind him, past the other workmen eating their slabs of melon and hunks of hearth-baked bread, and the long stretch of stones packing down the dirt of the rainforest. "It's him we have to thank for all this, anyway. You know, we ran out of water for the mortar, and it's, what, an hour on foot back to the well at the fort?"  
  
"It is."  
  
"We walked down to where the next outpost south is building on this same road and borrowed it from the men working on the road from there to here because it was faster." Gaspar grinned slowly as that sank in, as Hilario lifted a hand to his mouth with surprise. "We'll meet them in the middle soon. This road will be done in less than two weeks' time, Hila. And hardly two years ago, this was the rotten, mucky, rotten path we stumbled up on foot and by mule!"  
  
"Fascinating." Hilario adjusted his monocle and looked down the long road. "I wouldn't call it civilization, but what we have is absolutely wonderful, wouldn't you agree?"  
  
Gaspar clicked his tongue in a soft scoff. "Civilization never did me any favors anyway. I had figured the colony would at least be a change of scenery, but it turns out I'm actually happy here."  
  
Hilario hummed agreement, just as the road trembled under their hands. A few of the men further away stood, as an older man in weather-worn finery, long hair absent the traditional wig and instead bound in a rough plait, approached on a stout, mud-splattered horse. Gaspar stood just as the man reached the edge of the road towards the outpost, and Hilario joined him, frowning curiously at the rider for a moment before cupping a hand to his mouth and calling to him.  
  
" _Senhor_ , forgive me for saying so, but you appear out of place. What brings you this far into the wilds?"  
  
The rider took notice and hurriedly dismounted and approached Hilario. "Young sir, I am the footman for La Duchesa de Barcelos. Tell me, does Padre Caldeira de Sereno still reside at Forte Paz?"  
  
A few of the workmen chuckled, as did Hilario. “Goodness, we'd nearly forgotten he was Barcelos. Yes, sir, Padre Sereno remains our acting governor.” He pointed down the road. “If he is not in the fort proper, taking confession in the sanctuary, you will find him on the homestead with the door painted red. Last I saw him, he was searching for the fourth who works our land with us.” He cracked a little smile. “ _Senhor_  de Domingo tends to wander if not watched, you see.”  
?“Ah.” The footman pursed his lips and nodded. “And, er, is there any other road we can take?”  
  
Gaspar laughed. “Not unless you want to get on hand and knee and start paving it yourself,  _Senhor_!”  
  
The footman moaned softly, somewhere between indignation and panic, but just as he turned to mount his horse again, there was another soft rumble as another rider approached, and the sight of this horse on the horizon was enough to make every man stand at attention. A voluptuous woman, fair-skinned with black ringlets pinned back in a simple style, donning the ornately-decorated garb of a traveling courtesan, sat side-saddle on a white mare with one hand on the withers and one hand on the reins. Her petticoats swished under the curtain of her purple gown, and her jewelry gleamed in the sun. She spurred the horse on to catch up to the footman, before halting her horse a few paces ahead of him. "Joaozinho, dear, I told you I did not mind riding! This is exhilarating!" She turned her horse about, ignoring how every man who had stood now got on his knees before her, kneeling at the feet of the woman who surely must have been the Duchesa. "I have been in that Godforsaken carriage for a week since we left Sao Paolo. An hour of sunshine and fresh air will do the both of us some good."  
  
"Madam, I–!" The footman (poor Joao, thought Hilario) stammered frantically as the Duchesa trotted her horse in a neat circle around him. "Duchesa, please, I cannot stop you, but I beseech you, despite our savage surroundings you must set a good example! Noblesse oblige!"  
  
"Alas, what a stick-in-the-mud you are!" The Duchesa laughed with a vibrancy that defied her age (and surely, Gaspar thought, she had to be older than she was acting), but she blew Joao a kiss. "I think that anyone willing to come to this dark corner of the earth has a bit of savage in them. Besides!" She gave her horse a slap on the flank to spur it on, calling back as she took off again, "I did not travel all this way to be halted by a missing stretch of road!"  
  
"Duchesa, wait!" Joao hurried back to his mule, scrambling back into the saddle and digging his heels in. "You don't even know where you're going!"  
  
Hilario and Gaspar watched, shoulder to shoulder and each stifling laughter behind their hands as the two riders crossed the new road to the fort's front gates. "She's not wrong, I suppose." Gaspar glanced to Hilario as the latter spoke, eyes glinting like bottle-glass in the bright sunlight. "Though I imagine some of us are a bit less civilized than others."  
  
"I hate to repeat myself," Gaspar chuckled, "but civilization has done me little good anyway. We can make our own way without all that." He cast his eyes over the road, at all the workmen finishing their lunch, even the Africans – no longer slaves, at Padre Sereno's explicit instruction.  
  
Because they were all human beings.  
  
The acres behind the fortress had been divided into the first few homesteads meant for this section of the colony, and the land had clearly proven ripe for agriculture. However, as the Duchesa de Barcelos passed the fields and small pastures meant for hens and pigs, she could not place very many of the things growing in the rows. She recognized rice paddies -- barren for the season, she mused with a rueful little smirk at the sun where it beat down upon the earth from its chariot -- and some of the bean plants looked familiar, but many of the things growing were unfamiliar. Just as curiously, there were still trees standing, especially near the squat little farmers' cottages, as if they had only cleared away exactly what they needed. It made sense to leave the trees to shield them from the sun, even if it was what had been ordered.  
  
"Joaozinho," she said with a hint of honey in her tones, as Joao, looking as beleaguered as ever, kept his mule at a trot a few paces behind hers, "do you think we shall truly ever clear the whole of this forest away? That was the plan, wasn't it?"  
  
Joao stammered a moment, fidgeting with the reins. "I... with all due respect, yes, I believe so. But the more I see how vast it is, the less I doubt we can accomplish it. The Governor-General reported that going is slow, and when we must fight the natives, we too often lose, so--"  
  
"I was listening, you know."  
  
"With all due respect, Duchesa, you seemed vastly more interested in the wine the Governor-General was serving." Joao lowered his eyes, but the Duchesa tossed her head back and laughed.  
  
"And so I was! But truly, what could be less interesting than transforming this beautiful, unique place into our mirror image? God made it this way for a reason. If my nephew truly did take charge here, then I imagine he began to think the exact same way." She smirked, her hand spreading to affectionately rub her horse's flank, gently enough not to distract it from the path but enough that she could pretend she was ruffling the hair of a certain sulky young man. "He's much like his foster father was, though from his scowl and carriage, you'd never see it unless you looked twice."  
  
Joao, knowing he'd pushed the envelope on disagreeing with her enough, meekly nodded. "I'll take your word for it, Duchesa." He cast his eyes around pointedly. "I do believe the well-spoken young man said his door was red, but that he might be looking for a  _Senhor_  de Domingo." Joao scratched his faintly stubbly chin. "Though, if I recall the records at the Governor-General's office correctly, there were no men by the name of Domingo here. Of the five-hundred overall sent here since the outpost was founded, I do not recall any Domingo."   
  
“Perhaps the ledger does not contain everything.” The Duchesa smirked to herself, and Joao wondered at his lady, her mind ever obscured.   
  
The cottage with the red door was empty, though the fields nearest it were freshly irrigated and the pigs in the yard contently eating rice husks. However, before the Duchesa could send Joao to search the area, there was a shout from nearby:  
  
“There you are, you cursed ape! Get down from there or so help me, I'll--”  
  
“No!” The Duchesa started as a few men ran past her towards the two arguing voices, and she and Joao traded quizzical looks before she dismounted, thrust the reins of her horse into Joao's hands, and swept off after them, lifting her skirts with one hand to keep them out of the dirt.  
  
Sure enough, she found little Godofredo – not nearly so little as the last she saw him, to boot. He wasn't wearing his cassock or robes, but instead a collared shirt he'd clearly made from one or the other, and his arms were bare, revealing lithe, tanned muscle. Despite clearly eschewing the usual dress, she noticed he was still fully equipped – he had a green sash tied around his waist, with his Bible strapped in on one side and a pistol on the other. He was standing at the foot of what appeared to be a fruit tree near the edge of the tree line, with a few other men around him watching and chattering, shouting at a smaller man perched near the top: “You can't just keep shouting 'coco, coco' at me and running without a damned explanation!”  
  
“I told you!” The other man shouted back, lifting something two fists long, lumpy, and the same chestnut brown as his hair over his head. “It's 'cacao!' And I'm not going to give it to anyone else until you promise to take care of it!”  
  
“Why on God's earth would we need to take special care of this one?!” Godofredo stomped a foot, turning purple under his new, sun-gifted complexion.   
  
“It's – it's –!!” The other man – surely the rumored  _Senhor_  de Domingo, the Duchesa mused with a smile – struggled for words, then muttered a string of invective in a language she didn't recognize, before shouting, “Delicate!”  
  
“You're really going to make me promise?” Godofredo crossed his arms, and Domingo looked warily at the men who were still shouting at him:  
  
“Come down from there!”  
  
“That tree's still young! You're going to break the branch!”  
  
Godofredo followed his line of sight, and scoffed. “Just me, then. Give it to just me. I want to know what it is.”   
  
Domingo hopped down, landing heavily in front of Godofredo. “It's cacao, Padre. It only grows in very special places, and there's not a lot of it.” He swallowed hard, lifting the pod to his nose and giving it a sniff, before shuddering and holding it out to Godofredo again. “And it's very tasty to eat!”  
  
“I see.” Godofredo narrowed his eyes. “Show me how it's prepared.”  
  
“Ah!” The Duchesa chose this moment to make her presence known, unable to keep a proud smile away as Godofredo's back arched in irritation. “Godofredo – or should I say, Padre Sereno, I may have heard of this wonderment called 'cacao.'” He turned slowly, with Domingo peering out from behind him, as she sauntered towards him. All the men but Sereno and Domingo took a knee, but Sereno kept his arms crossed tight and Domingo held his cacao pod close to his chest. “It is made into a delightful beverage in the court of distant Spain, drunk by the princes. If your knowledgeable young friend here would oblige by showing us how it is prepared or cultivated, perhaps when we have a prince again, he, too, may enjoy it.” She quirked an eyebrow. “And perhaps he shall favor us for it, eh?”  
  
Sereno was tight-lipped a moment longer before sweeping into a respectful bow. “Duchesa Caldeira de Barcelos,” he said, the phrasing rote and clearly insincere, “it is an honor to be graced with your presence.”  
  
“Liar.” The Duchesa laughed and mussed Sereno's hair. “But it's good to see you all the same.” Sereno groused under his breath as he rose and brushed his hair back into place, and the Duchesa offered him her elbow. “Come, nephew, I've come all this way and I wish to hear of your progress.”  
  
Sereno reluctantly took her elbow, then motioned for Domingo to follow. “Guga, I want you to show me how it is eaten, first.”  
  
The Duchesa stifled a giggle at the pleased look that crossed Gustavo's face at the diminutive of his name. “I take it you are  _Senhor_  de Domingo.”  
  
“Gustavo de Domingo.” He grinned bright. “Padre, who is she? Are we going to have women sent in now on the cart?”  
  
Sereno scoffed with annoyance. “This is my aunt and sponsor. She is the reason I am here.”  
  
Gustavo's face erupted with delight, and he jumped in front of her. “I must thank you! I am most thankful and grateful!”  
  
“Guga!” Sereno tightened his grip on the Duchesa's arm, but forced him to turn. “We'll discuss this privately. My lady aunt, let me lead the way.”   
  
The farmer's cottage that Sereno clearly shared with Gustavo, based on the clothes drying on the line outside, was sparsely appointed, but Sereno would never complain of it but for now, when he pulled up three of their four stools to their shared table and hoped Gaspar and Hilario steered clear until the Duchesa left. Joao had gone to the stables to clean the horses' hooves, a small relief on the tiny space, and rather than sit with Sereno and the Duchesa, Gustavo busied himself at their fireplace with a machete, the cacao pod, and a heavy pan. Sereno poured wine for himself and the Duchesa as she seated herself in their relative squalor, as dainty as she would at court. “What does bring you, Duchesa? One does not travel two months by sea and at least a week by carriage for a conversation.”  
  
“I was visiting with the Governor-General at the behest of our cousin, la Duchesa de Braganza.” Duchesa de Barcelos took a sip of the wine from the wood-hewed cup Sereno had given her. It was nothing like the wine imported to Sao Paolo from home, that was for certain, and delightful for it. “She's rather close to the succession crisis, you'll recall, and she wanted me to give him reassurances that Prince Phillip and Prince Antonio will settle their differences soon enough, and that we'll soon have a stronger hand guiding the colonies forward.” She took another long draught and sighed before adding, “Unfortunately, it may be a Spanish hand. Phillip is clearly in the favored position.”  
  
Sereno made a neutral little sound as he sat with a small block of cheese and a slab of flat bread. “He is Portuguese enough for me. I doubt it matters, nonetheless; we're becoming self-sufficient here.” He smirked ruefully. “Then again, I suppose that's what happens when one sends a man of God rather than a man of the king when aid is requested.”  
  
“Yes, I noticed you seem to be taking things in your own direction. I heard of the French raid and your leadership crisis.” The Duchesa smirked over the table. “It is fortunate none saw fit to argue with a priest.” Sereno hummed again, clearly more interested in what Gustavo was doing at the fire.  
  
“Convenient, yes.” He watched the deft motions of Gustavo's hands as he tossed the curious white seeds from the pod in the pan, stirring them with quick little flicks of his fingers in the pan.  
  
“And what became of the  _Capitao_  after that raid?”  
  
“He supposedly ran off to join the French forces, but I sent a search party of my most trusted subordinates.” Sereno's nostrils flared, lip curling for a moment. “His body was discovered a few days later, rent apart by wild monkeys.” He paused, without turning from Gustavo. “Or with a blade. I couldn't tell. The official report has blamed the monkeys.”  
  
“I see.” The Duchesa smiled, and she too began to observe Gustavo, as he hissed and licked one of his fingers, then stirred the pan again, swiftly in and out. “Speaking of monkeys, perhaps you can explain the ape you just retrieved from that strange tree.”  
  
“It's a fruit tree. We've started to call its fruit bell apples, and they're sweeter than any peach you can imagine.” Sereno closed his eyes as if recalling the flavor, and the Duchesa was certain he was faintly smiling. “Gustavo is a native, discovered here wild. I have made strides to tame him, but he is completely unable to be tamed. The best we could do was teach him Portuguese and some of our customs. He took a shine to me, and now I've got a hanger-on.” He pursed his lips, and the Duchesa knew he was avoiding her gaze.  
  
She just leaned closer, garnering an annoyed snort. “You baptized him and give him sacraments?”  
  
“I christened him, but he is not baptized. I invited him to sacrament, but he only enjoys listening to prayers and homily.” Sereno shrugged. “He is fine as he is. If God wants him in Heaven, He will take him. I feel I have done enough. I may be here on God's authority, but is it not true that God made this side of the world, too?” He shot her a hard look. “He is as he was made. I have no intention of changing him.”  
  
“Ah.” The Duchesa smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I rather like your approach, but tell me, nephew, what shall we do about others like him as we expand the colony west?”  
  
“Hmph.” Sereno scowled at Gustavo's back, refusing to look at the Duchesa. “If it must be done, then so be it.” He took his pipe out, already feeling heartburn at the thought. “I'm learning some of his language, and one of the only intelligent men here, Hilario de Criado, is documenting it. However, his language is one dialect among many. He says it is difficult to communicate with others who live in this forest as close as 'over two rivers,' whatever that means.” He dragged on his pipe slowly, keenly aware that his aunt was studying him. “But I will share what we know. If we move through their territory quickly and peacefully, respect them and possibly establish trade, we will be safe. However, you will not be able to enslave them, and certainly not civilize them.”   
  
Gustavo had turned around to listen at those words, but when the Duchesa looked back to him, he swiftly returned to toasting the cacao nibs. She allowed herself a dulcet, indulgent little chuckle. “And I suppose you object to the other alternative.”  
  
Sereno's expression tightened. “And what of it?”  
  
Curiously enough, the Duchesa reached over the table to pat his slumping shoulder. “Your heart is soft, nephew. I will advise the Governor-General of your findings.”   
  
Sereno scoffed and brushed her off, then rose to lean over Gustavo. “Is it ready yet?”  
  
“Mhm!” Gustavo pulled the pan off the heat. “I think, at least.” He set the pan on the table then snapped his fingers in to pull one of the little bits out, tossing it from palm to palm, then cracking the hard outer shell to reveal a little nib. “Break it with your teeth, let it melt on your tongue.” He held it out to Sereno in two fingers. Sereno gamely accepted the morsel in his front teeth, cracking the firm outside, then chewing slowly. Gustavo watched his face, beaming, as a curious, intense bittersweet flavor spread over his tongue. “It's good! Usually, we would let them sit in the sun first, and that makes them even better!”  
  
Sereno swallowed. “Cacao, you called it?”  
  
“That's better!” Gustavo beamed. “You keep saying 'coco.' Very different, I find one and show you! But this, this is special. You eat it, you feel strong enough to work for days!”  
?Sereno nodded, slowly licking his lips. “It's alright.” He reached into the pan and plucked one out, turning it over. “I'll test it.” He then held the nib out to Gustavo, who eagerly took it and popped it into his mouth. He blew out hot air, and Sereno lightly slapped the back of his head. “It's still hot, you nitwit monkey!”  
  
“Still hot!” Gustavo bit down, then grinned. “And very good.” He then grabbed the part of the pod he didn't cook. “I'll plant it in good spots and mark the spaces on Hila's map, but I want to keep it secret. They're hard to grow, so I don't want everyone grabbing it all up.” He wrinkled his nose, then hopped to the door. “Want to come, Godo?”  
  
“I'll join you in a minute.” Sereno followed him, only to slap his head again. “And don't say Godo in front of people.”  
  
“You said not to say it outside of the house, and we are inside the house!” Gustavo put his hands on his hips and stuck his lower lip out. Sereno rolled his eyes and turned his next swat into a ruffle.  
  
“Not in front of people, Guga.” He brushed a few locks of his hair from his eyes, then, with a brush of his hand, sent him running on his way. The Duchesa couldn't help but notice the smug little hint of satisfaction on Sereno's face, and she rose to stand at the door with him, looking across the expanse of livable town he had hewn out in this dark stretch of earth.?  
“So, Padre Sereno.” She elbowed his side, jostling him, to an annoyed grunt from him. “You said you wanted a change of scenery from Lisbon. Are you satisfied with what you've found here?” ?  
Sereno scoffed a little, crossing his arms and propping himself against the door. “I expected nothing when I arrived here.” He paused, eying the Duchesa for a moment before murmuring, “I have been pleasantly disproved.” He pushed himself off the door. “The idiot forgot Hilario's map, so I'd best go with him. I'll be back, and if you want more specifics, we can talk then.” He grabbed a scroll of paper off of the table, and the Duchesa watched as Sereno jogged to catch up with Gustavo. She could swear he was smiling again.  
  
Gustavo had already dodged into the underbrush and begun to jab a little hole in a shady spot between some of the taller trees. The earth was soft and ripe, as was the crook of Gustavo's neck where it met the shoulder. Sereno gave that little spot at his shoulder a gentle nip of his teeth before leaning over Gustavo to watch what he was doing. “It's hard to grow,” Gustavo repeated. “The way you grow, everything in the bright, it will die. But if you put it in the spots where it can get the light between the trees, it will grow up strong.”  
  
“So it needs a balance of sun and shadow.” Sereno nodded and unfurled the map Hilario had drafted to mark the spot with a little charcoal etching. He looked through the thick of the forest that had seemed so dark at first glance, and while it was much the same, just as dark, he could see the broad stretches of light that filtered through the canopy. It made his shirt stick to his back, yes, but he'd lightened his clothes to beat the heat, no longer frightened of the nasty insects, and after a day in the sun, the shade of the trees was a welcome relief. Gustavo, too, reflected that same bright sun in his eyes, and the beauty of the dark in his curious ways. “I can understand.”  
  
“I thought you would.” Gustavo turned, grinning again. “It will be nice, when they grow up. Maybe you can try new things with it to make it better, like the cheese, and the smoke on the meat to make it keep!”  
  
Sereno tilted his head a few times, considering the options. He'd tasted it once to know cheese wouldn't help, but the Duchesa had said it was a drink, and he had heard rumors that they would receive dairy cows and a few breeding bulls once they'd established a pasture. Still, he flicked Gustavo's ear. “Always thinking of your next meal. Let's see what grows before we decide what to do with it.”  
  
Gustavo nodded enthusiastically. “Aye, certainly! We have lots of time. They take time to grow and make fruit.” He jumped up to his feet. “Follow me, trust me. We should plant one only you and me know about, so nobody else can have it. It'll be ours.”  
  
Sereno rose to follow. “Not even Gaspar and Hilario?”  
  
“Gaspar will eat it all and tease me!” Gustavo stuck his tongue out, but jumped off the beaten path and into the thick underbrush, jumping from the civil things he'd learned back into the unknown as easily as the half-wild thing he still was. “Just you and me. Come.”  
  
Sereno let him lead the first few steps, looking into the savage growth and Gustavo's back as he vanished into it. There was a relief in knowing Gustavo did not need to follow him this time. Stepping into the wilds and beating this new path made his heart feel full and good.  
  
He followed Gustavo into the untamed wilds.  
  


**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to IllegalityGirl, who helped inspire me for chapter 7.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed! It was an honor to write for one of my favorite authors!

**Author's Note:**

> NOTES
> 
> The Portuguese Succession Crisis - Also referred to as the Portuguese Succession War, denoted in the chapter as the "succession crisis." In 1578, Portugal's King Sebastian I died at age 25 during the Battle of Three Kings (while attempting to turn the Ottoman Empire back from its advance through Morocco) without leaving an heir. His uncle Henry, a cardinal who had served as Sebastian's regent before Sebastian could ascend to the throne, had intended to relinquish his position as a priest and take the throne. However, the Pope (an ally to the Spanish Habsburg royalty) refused to allow him to leave the priesthood and thereby prevented him from ascending to the throne, thus leaving no royal heir. This resulted in a succession crisis that lasted until 1583, where the throne of Portugal sat empty while multiple dukes, duchesses, princesses, and princes vied for the throne. This involved some bloodshed, as the two main claimants mustered armies and fought through the Iberian peninsula. Eventually, Phillip II, King of Spain and a grandson of a previous Portuguese king, took the Portuguese throne, resulting in the Iberian Union. This story takes place in 1580 through 1582, during which the fighting between Phillip II and his rival, the bastard grandson Antonio, was at its worst.
> 
> Brazilwood – “Pau-brasil,” a relative of Sappanwood trees (“brezel”) which were previously discovered in Asia and used for dye prior to Portugal's colonization of Brazil. Brazilwood soon proved a superior dye for luxury textiles and became a major export in the 16th century. The county Brazil is named for the tree rather than the other way around, a foreshortening of Terra de Brasil or “land of Brazilwood.” Brazilwood is presently endangered due to overharvesting.
> 
> Portuguese Terms:
> 
> Senhor – Sir, Mister  
> Padre – Father  
> Morisco – Moorish Muslim converts to Christianity. Many were enslaved by the Portuguese during the Reconquista period.


End file.
